NRLF 


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THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

CERF  LIBRARY 

PRESENTED  BY 

REBECCA  CERF  '<D2 

IN  THE  NAMES  OF 

CHARLOTTE  CERF  '95 

MARCEL  E.  CERF  '97 

BARRY  CERF  '02 


POEMS  OF  POWER 


OTHER  BOOKS 

BY 

ELLA  WHEELER  WILCOX 


EVERYDAY  THOUGHTS 

KINGDOM  OF  LOVE  AND  OTHER 
POEMS 

THREE  WOMEN 

MAURINE 

POEMS  OF  PASSION 

POEMS  OF  PLEASURE 

THE  BEAUTIFUL  LAND  OF  NOD 

AN  ERRING  WOMAN'S  LOVE 

AN  AMBITIOUS  MAN 

MEN,  WOMEN  AND  EMOTIONS 


POEMS  OF 


BY 

ELLA   WHEELER  WILCOX 


CHICAGO 
W.  J5.  CONKEY  COMPANY 


COPYRIGHT.  1801. 

BY 
ELLA  WHEELER  WILCOX 

X 

COPYRIGHT.  1902. 

BY 
ELLA  WHEELER  WILGOX 

X 
COPYRIGHT.  1»08. 

BY 
ELLA  WHEELER  WILCOX 


*    f 


PREFATORY 


"THE  final  word  in  the  title  of  this  •volume  refers 
to  the  Divine  Power  in  every  human  being, 
the  recognition  of  which  is  the  secret  to  all  success 
and  happiness.     It  is  this  idea  which  many  of  the' 
verses  endeavor  to  illustrate. 

THE  AUTHOR 


M566942 


CONTENTS 


PAGE. 

The  Meeting  of  the  Centuries 9 

Death  has  Crowned  Him  a  Martyr 12 

Grief 14 

Speech 16 

Illusion 17 

Assertion 18 

The  Queen's  Last  Ride 19 

I  Am 21 

Woman  and  War 23 

A  Fallen  Leaf 25 

This  Too  Shall  Pass  Away 26 

Success 28 

Recrimination 29 

Threefold 31 

Wishing 33 

We  Two 34 

The  Poet's  Theme 35 

Love  is  All 37 

Song  of  the  Spirit 39 

Womanhood 40 

Morning  Prayer 41 

Voices  of  the  People 42 

The  World  Grows  Better 44 

The  Bed 46 

Discontent 48 

A  Man's  Ideal 49 

War  Sonnets 50 

My  Launch  and  1 52 

The  Fire  Brigade 54 

Progress 56 

The  Tides 57 

That  Day 58 

So  Many  Ways 60 

The  Protest 62 

The  Snowflake 63 

God's  Motto 65 

How  Like  the  Sea 66 

True  Charity 67 

When  the  Regiment  Came  Back 68 

Woman  to  Man 69 

The  Traveler 71 

The  Earth 72 

Now 73 

You  and  To-day 74 

The  Reason 75 

The  Chain 76 

7 


»  COATT£NTS. 

Mission PAG7E8 

Repetition "     7ej 

Begin  the  Day '     i. 

Words 2V 

Kate  and  I... 

UntqtheEnd ....'."..'.'""  84 

Attainment 

A  PU-a  to  Peace !!......"!  He 

Presumption 

HiKh  Noon "!.!.!!.'!!.".*;  89 

Thought-Magnets 01 

s.nik-s I.".".!."..*!  '   90 

The  Undiscovered  Country '    94 

1  he  Universal  Route '    q.-, 

Unanswered  Prayers '    qc 

Thanksgiving 

Contrasts  "  |XS 

B^h!p:::  :»:;.:::»  ^ 

A  Marine  Etching...  i  ,- 

Love  Thyself  Last 

Christmas  Kancies 

The  River }Vn 

Sorry }}§ 

Ambition's  Trail 

Uncontrolled... 

win ::::;; 

To  an  Astrologer. ..  '    li-r 
The  Tendril's  Fate. ..:::::; 

1  he  I  imes ion 

The  Question .."'.'.  '  }.tV 

Sorrow's  Uses 1^2 

If '"l   QO 

VVhich  Ar«  You? 

The  Creed  to  Be I2fi 

Inspiration ...  '  I.^Q 

The  wish :::::.":;  JoS 

Three  Friends 

Yon  Never  Can  Tell ........'.'.'.'."  [32 

Here  and  Now j*o 

Unconquered  .. 

AIITl,at  Love  Asks '. 

Does  It  Pay? 

Sestina 

The  Optiniist 141 

The  Pessimist 

An  Aspiration ......'.'.'.'.!'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.".'."  142 

Life  s  Harmonies       144 

Preparation 

Gethsemane 

God's  Measure...  {"to 

Noblesse  Obi ige I!!!!!.".!!!! 

A  Domestic  Conversation 151 

The  Commercial  Traveler...  15H 

The  World's  Need  ....!.!..!]  1§9 


THE   MEETING  OF  Th|E   CENTURIES. 

A  CURIOUS  vision,  on  mine  eyes  unfurled 
In  the  deep  night.   I  saw,  or  seemed  to  see, 
Two  Centuries  meet,  and  sit  down  vis-a-vis, 
Across  the  great  round  table  of   the  world. 
One  with  suggested  sorrows  in  his  mien 

And  on  his  brow  the  furrowed  lines  of  thought. 
And  one  whose  glad  expectant  presence  brought 
A  glow  and  radiance  from  the  realms  unseen. 

Hand  clasped  with  hand,  in  silence  for  a  space, 
The  Centuries  sat;  the  sad  old  eyes  of  one 
(As  grave  paternal  eyes  regard  a  son) 

Gazing  upon  that  other  eager  face. 

And  then  a  voice,  as  cadenceless  and  gray 
As  the  sea's  monody  in  winter  time, 
Mingled  with  tones  melodious,  as  the  chime 

Of  bird  choirs,  singing  in  the  dawns  of  May. 

THE  OLD   CENTURY  iPEAKJ: 

By  you,  Hope  stands.     With  me,  Experience  walks. 

Like  a  fair  jewel  in  a  faded  box, 

In  my  tear-rusted  heart,  sweet  pity  lies. 

For  all  the  dreams  that  look  forth  from  your  eyes, 


9 


10  POEMS  OF  POWER. 

And  those  bright-hued  ambitions,  which  1  know 
Must  fall  like  leaves  and  perish  in  Time's  snow, 
(Even  as  my  soul's  garden  stands  bereft,) 
I  give  you  pity!  'tis  the  one  gift  left. 

THE,  NEW  CENTURY: 

Nay,  nay,  good  friend!  not  pity,  but  Godspeed, 
Here  in  the  morning  of  my  life  1  need. 
Counsel,  and  not  condolence;  smiles,  not  tears, 
To  guide  me  through  the  channels  of  the  years. 
Oh,  I  am  blinded  by  the  blaze  of  light 
That  shines  upon  me  from  the  Infinite. 
Blurred  is  my  vision  by  the  close  approach 
To  unseen  shores,  whereon  the  times  encroach. 

THE  OLD  CENTUKY: 

Illusion,  all  illusion.     List  and  hear 
The  Godless  cannons,  booming  far  and  near. 
Flaunting  the  flag  of  Unbelief,  with  Greed 
For  pilot,  lo!  the  pirate  age  in  speed 
Bears  on  to  ruin.     War's  most  hideous  crimes 
Besmirch  the    record  of  these  modern  times. 
Degenerate  is  the  world  I  leave  to  you, — 
My  happiest  speech  to  earth  will  be — adieu. 

THE  NEW  CENTURY: 

You  speak  as  one  too  weary  to  be  just. 
I  hear  the  guns — I  see  the  greed  and  lust. 
The  death  throes  of  a  giant  evil  fill 


POEMS  OF  POWER.  11 

The  air  with  riot  and  confusion.     Ill 
Ofttimes  makes  fallow  ground  for  Good ;  and  Wrong 
Builds  Right's  foundation,  when  it  grows  too  strong. 
Pregnant  with  promise  is  the  hour,  and  grand 
The  trust  you  leave  in  my  all-willing  hand. 

THE  OLD  CENTURY: 

As  one  who  throws  a  flickering  taper's  ray 
To  light  departing  feet,  my  shadowed  way 
You  brighten  with  your  faith.    Faith  makes  the  man. 
Alas,  that  my  poor  foolish  age  outran 
Its  early  trust  in  God.     The  death  of  art 
And  progress  follows,  when  the  world's  hard  heart 
Casts  out  religion.     'Tis  the  human  brain 
Men  worship  now,  and  heaven,  to  them,  means- 
gain. 

THE  NEW  CENTURA: 

Faith  is  not  dead,  tho'  priest  and  creed  may  pass, 
For    thought    has    leavened  the  whole  unthinking 

mass. 

And  man  looks  now  to  find  the  God  within. 
We  shall  talk  more  of  love,  and  less  of  sin, 
In  this  new  era.     We  are  drawing  near 
Unatlassed  boundaries  of  a  larger  sphere. 
With  awe,  I  wait,  till  Science  leads  us  on, 
Into  the  full  effulgence  of  its  dawn. 


12  POEMS  OF  POWER. 


DEATH   HAS   CROWNED    HIM    A    MARTYR. 

(Written  on  the  day  of  President  McKinley's  death.) 

IN  the  midst  of  sunny  waters,  lo!  the  mighty  Ship 
of  State 

Staggers,  bruised  and  torn  and  wounded  by  a  dere 
lict  of  fate. 

One  that  drifted  from  its  moorings  in  the  anchorage 
of  hate. 

On  the  deck  our  noble   Pilot,  in  the   glory  of  his 

prime, 
Lies  in  woe-impelling  silence,  dead  before  his  hour 

or  time, 
Victim  of  a  mind  self-centered  in  a  Godless  fool  of 

crime. 

One  of  earth's  dissension-breeders,  one   of  Hate's 

unreasoning  tools 
In  the  annals  of  the  ages,   when   the  world's  hot 

anger  cools, 
He  who  sought  for  Crime's  distinction    shall    be 

known  as  Chief  of  Fools. 

In  the  annals  of  the  ages,  he  who  had  no  thought 

of  fame 
(Keeping  on  the  path  of  duty,  caring  not  for  praise 

or  blame), 


POEMS  OF  POWER.  13 

Close  beside  the  deathless  Lincoln,  writ  in  light, 
will  shine  his  name. 

Youth  proclaimed  him  as  a  hero ;  time,  a  statesman ; 

love,  a  man; 
Death  has  crowned  him  as  a  martyr,  so  from  goal 

to  goal  he  ran, 
Knowing  all  the  sum  of  glory  that  a  human  life 

may  span. 

He  was  chosen  by  the  people;  not  an  accident  of 

birth 
Made  him  ruler  of  a  nation,  but   his  own  intrinsic 

worth. 
Fools  may  govern  over  kingdoms— not  republics  of 

the  earth. 

He  has  raised  the  lovers'  standard  by  his  loyalty 

and  faith, 
He  has  shown  how  virile  manhood  may  keep  free 

from  scandal's  breath. 
He  has  gazed,  with  trust  unshaken,  in  the  awful 

eyes  of  death. 

In  the  mighty  march  of  progress  he  has  sought  to 

do  his  best. 
Let  his  enemies  be  silent,  as  we  lay  him  down  to 

rest, 
And  may  God  assuage  the  anguish  of  one  sufferiag 

woman's  breast. 


14  POEMS  OF  POWER. 


GRIEF. 

AS  the  funeral  train  with  its  honored  dead 
/-\  On  its  mournful  way  went  sweeping, 
While  a  sorrowful  nation  bowed  its  head 

And  the  whole  world  joined  in  weeping, 
I  thought,  as  I  looked  on  the  solemn  sight, 

Of  the  one  fond  heart  despairing, 
And  I  said  to  myself,  as  in  truth  I  might, 

"How  sad  must  be  this  sharing." 

To  share  the  living  with  even  Fame, 

For  a  heart  that  is  only  human, 
Is  hard,  when  Glory  asserts  her  claim 

Like  a  bold,  insistent  woman; 
Yet  a  great,  grand  passion  can  put  aside 

Or  stay  each  selfish  emotion, 
And  watch,  with  a  pleasure  that  springs  from  pride, 

Its  rival — the  world's  devotion. 

But  Death  should  render  to  love  its  own, 

And  my  heart  bowed  down  and  sorrowed 
For  the  stricken  woman  who  wept  alone 

While  even  her  dead  was  borrowed ; 
Borrowed  from  her,  the  bride — the  wife — 

For  the  world's  last  martial  honor, 
As  she  sat  in  the  gloom  of  her  darkened  life, 

With  her  widow's  grief  fresh  upon  her. 


POEMS  OF  PO  WER.  15 

He  had  shed  the  glory  of  Love  and  Fame 

In  a  golden  halo  about  her; 
She  had  shared  his  triumphs  and  worn  his  name: 

But,  alas!  he  had  died  without  her. 
He  had  wandered  in  many  a  distant  realm, 

And  never  had  left  her  behind  him; 
But  now,  with  a  spectral  shape  at  the  helm, 

He  had  sailed  where  she  could  not  find  him. 

It  was  only  a  thought,  that  came  that  day 

In  the  midst  of  the  muffled  drumming 
And  funeral  music  and  sad  display, 

That  I  knew  was  right  and  becoming; 
Only  a  thought  as  the  mourning  train 

Moved,  column  after  column, 
Bearing  the  dead  to  the  burial  plain 

With  a  reverence  grand  as  solemn. 


16  POEMS  OF  POWER. 


SPEECH- 

TALK  happiness.     The  world  is  sad  enough 
Without  your  woe.      No  path  is  wholly  rough. 
Look  for  the  places  that  are  smooth  and  clear, 
And  speak  of  them  to  rest  the  weary  ear 
Of  earth ;  so  hurt  by  one  continuous  strain 
Of  mortal  discontent  and  grief  and  pain. 

Talk  faith.     The  world  is  better  off  without 

Your  uttered  ignorance  and  morbid  doubt. 

If  you  have  faith  in  God,  or  man,  or  self, 

Say  so;  if  not,  push  back  upon  the  shelf 

Of  silence,  all  your  thoughts  till  faith  shall  come. 

No  one  will  grieve  because  your  lips  are  dumb. 

Talk  health.     The  dreary,  never-ending  tale 

Of  mortal  maladies  is  worn  and  stale; 

You  cannot  charm  or  interest  or  please 

By  harping  on  that  minor  chord,  disease. 

Say  you  are  well,  or  all  is  well  with  you, 

And  God  shall  hear  your  words  and  make  them  true. 


POEMS  OF  POWER.  17 


ILLUSION. 

OOD  and  I  in  space  alone 
And  nobody  else  in  view. 

"And  where  are  the  people,  O!  Lord,"  I  said, 
"The  earth  below,  and  the  sky  o'er  head 
And  the  dead  whom  once  I  knew?" 

"That  was  a  dream,"  God  smiled  and  said, 

"A  dream  that  seemed  to  be  true. 
There  were  no  people,  living  or  dead, 
There  was  no  earth,  and  no  sky  o'er  head 

There  was  only  myself — in  you." 

"Why  do  I  feel  no  fear,"  I  asked, 

"Meeting  you  here  this  way, 
For  I  have  sinned  I  know  full  well, 
And  is  there  heaven,  and  is  there  hell, 

And  is  this  the  judgment  day?" 

"Say,  those  were  but  dreams,"  the  Great  God  said, 

"Dreams,  that  have  ceased  to  be. 
There  are  no  such  things  as  fear  or  sin, 
There  is  no  you — you  never  have  been — 

There  is  nothing  at  all  but  Me." 


18  POEMS  OF  POWER, 


ASSERTION. 

I  AM  serenity.     Though  passions  beat 
Like  mighty  billows  on  my  helpless  heart, 
I  know  beyond  them,  lies  the  perfect  sweet 

Serenity,  which  patience  can  impart. 
And  when  wild  tempests  in  my  bosom  rage, 
4 'Peace,  peace,"  I  cry,  "it  is  my  heritage." 

I  am  good  health.     Though  fevers  rack  my  brain 
And  rude  disorders  mutilate  my  strength, 

A  perfect  restoration  after  pain, 

I  know  shall  be  my  recompense  at  length, 

And  so  through  grievous  day  and  sleepless  night 

"Health,  health,"  I  cry,  '4it  is  my  own  by  right. 

I  am  success.     Though  hungry,  cold,  ill-clad, 
I  wander  for  awhile,  I  smile  and  say, 

4 'It  is  but  for  a  time — I  shall  be  glad 

To-morrow,  for  good  fortune  comes  my  way. 

God  is  my  father,  He  has  wealth  untold, 

His  wealth  is  mine,  health,  happiness  and  gold." 


POEMS  OF  POWER.  19 


THE  QUEEN'S  LAST  RIDE. 

(Written  on  the  day  of  Queen  Victoria's  funeral  ceremonies 
in  London.) 

THE  Queen  is  taking  a  drive  to-day, 
They  have  hung  with  purple  the  carriage-way, 
They  have  dressed  with  purple  the  royal  track 
Where  the  Queen  goes  forth  and  never  comes  back. 

Let  no  man  labour  as  she  goes  by 
On  her  last  appearance  to  mortal  eye, 
With  heads  uncovered  let  all  men  wait 
For  the  Queen  to  pass,  in  her  regal  state. 

Army  and  Navy  shall  lead  the  way 

For  that  wonderful  coach  of  the  Queen's  to-day. 

Kings  and  Princes  and  Lords  of  the  land 

Shall  ride  behind  her,  a  humble  band, 

And  over  the  city  and  over  the  world 

Shall  the  Flags  of  all  Nations  be  half-mast-furled, 

For  the  silent  lady  of  royal  birth 

Who  is  riding  away  from  the  Courts  of  earth; 

Riding  away  from  the  world's  unrest 

To  a  mystical  goal,  on  a  secret  quest. 

Tho'  in  royal  splendour  she  drives  through  town, 
Her  robes  are  simple,  she  wears  no  crown : 


20  POEMS  OF  POWER. 

And  yet  she  wears  one,  for  widowed  no  more, 
She  is  crowned  with  the  love  that  has  gone  before, 
And  crowned  with  the  love  she  has  left  behind 
In  the  hidden  depths  of  each  mourner's  mind. 

Bow  low  your  heads — lift  your  hearts  on  high — 
The  Queen  in  silence  is  driving  by! 


POEMS  OF  POWER.  21 


i 


I  AM. 

KNOW  not  whence  I  came, 

I  know  not  whither  I  go; 
But  the  fact  stands  clear  that  I  am  here 

In  this  world  of  pleasure  and  woe. 
And  out  of  the  mist  and  murk 

Another  truth  shines  plain — 
It  is  my  power  each  day  and  hour 

To  add  to  its  joy  or  its  pain. 

I  know  that  the  earth  exists, 

It  is  none  of  my  business  why; 
I  cannot  find  out  what  it's  all  about, 

I  would  but  waste  time  to  try. 
My  life  is  a  brief,  brief  thing, 

1  am  here  for  a  little  space, 
And  while  I  stay  I  would  like,  if  I  may, 

To  brighten  and  better  the  place. 

The  trouble,  I  think,  with  us  all 

Is  the  lack  of  a  high  conceit. 
If  each  man  thought  he  was  sent  to  this  spot 

To  make  it  a  bit  more  sweet, 
How  soon  we  could  gladden  the  world, 

How  easily  right  all  wrong, 


POEMS  OF  POWER. 

If  nobody  shirked,  and  each  one  worked 
To  help  his  fellows  along. 

Cease  wondering  why  you  came — 

Stop  looking  for  faults  and  flaws. 
Rise  up  to-day  in  your  pride  and  say, 

"I  am  part  of  the  First  Great  Cause! 
However  full  the  world, 

There  is  room  for  an  earnest  man. 
It  had  need  of  me  or  I  would  not  be — 

I  am  here  to  strengthen  the  plan. " 


POEMS  OF  PO  WER.  23 


WOMAN  AND  WAR. 

WE  women  teach  our  little  sons  how  wrong 
And  how   ignoble    blows   are;    school   and 
church 

Support  our  precepts,  and  inoculate 
The  growing  minds  with  thoughts  of  love  and  peace. 
"Let  dogs  delight  to  bark  and  bite,"  we  say; 
But  human  beings  with  immortal  souls 
Must  rise  above  the  methods  of  a  brute, 
And  walk  with  reason  and  with  self-control. 

And  then — dear  God!  you  men,  you  wise,    strong 

men, 

Our  self-announced  superiors  in  brain, 
Our  peers  in  judgment,  you  go  forth  to  war! 
You  leap  at  one    another,  mutilate 
And  starve  and  kill  your  fellow-men,  and  ask 
The  world's  applause  for  such  heroic  deeds. 
You  boast  and  strut;  and  if  no  song  is  sung, 
No  laudatory  epic  writ  in  blood, 
Telling  how  many  widows  you  have  made, 
Why  then,  perforce,  you  say  our  bards  are  dead 
And  inspiration  sleeps  to  wake  no  more. 
And  we,  the  women,  we  whose  lives  you  are — 

What  can  we  do  but  sit  in  silent  homes, 
And  wait  and  suffer?     Not  for  us  the  blare 


24  POEMS  OF  PO\\'ER. 

Of  trumpets  and  the  bugle's  call  to  arms — 
For  us  no  waving  banners,  no  supreme 
Triumphant  hour  of  conquest.     Ours  the  slow 
Dread  torture  of  uncertainty,  each  day 
The  bootless  battle  with  the  same  despair, 
And  when  at  best  your  victories  reach  our  ears, 
There  reaches  with  them,  to  our  pitying  hearts, 
The  thought  of  countless  homes  made  desolate, 
And  other  w%men  weeping  for  their  dead. 

O  men,  wise  men,  superior  beings,  say, 
Is  there  no  substitute  for  war  in  this 
Great  age  and  era!     If  you  answer  llNo, " 
Then  let  us  rear  our  children  to  be  wolves, 
And  teach  them  from  the  cradle  how  to  kill. 
Why  should  we  women  waste  our  time  and  words 
In  talking  peace,  when  men  declare  for  war? 


POEMS  OF  POWER. 


A  FALLEN   LEAF. 

A  TRUSTING  little  leaf  of  green, 
A  bold,  audacious  frost; 
A  rendezvous,  a  kiss  or  two 
And  youth  forever  lost. 

Ah,  me! 
The  bitter,  bitter  cost. 

A  flaunting  patch  of  vivid  red, 

That  quivers  in  the  sun; 
A  windy  gust,  a  grave  of  dust, 

The  little  race  is  run. 
Ah,  me! 

Were  that  the  only  one. 


26  POEMS  OF  POWER. 


"THIS  TOO  SHALL  PASS  AWAY." 

MIGHTY  monarch  in  the  days  of  old 
Made  offer  of  high  honour,  wealth  and  gold, 

To  one  who  should  produce  in  form  concise 
A  motto  for  his  guidance,  terse  yet  wise — 

A  precept,  soothing  in  his  hours  forlorn, 

Yet  one  that  in  his  prosperous  days  would  warn. 

Many  the  maxims  sent  the  king,  men  say. 
The  one  he  chose:  "This  too  shall  pass  away'' 

Oh,  jewel  sentence  from  the  mine  of  truth! 
What  riches  it  contains  for  age  or  youth. 

No  stately  epic,  measured  and  sublime, 
So  comforts,  or  so  counsels,  for  all  time 

As  these  few  words.     Go  write  them  on  your  heart 
And  make  them  of  your  daily  life  a  part. 

Has  some  misfortune  fallen  to  your  lot? 
This  too  will  pass  away — absorb  the  thought, 

And  wait;  your  waiting  will  not  be  in  vain, 
Time  gilds  with  gold  the  iron  links  of  pain. 


POEMS  OF  POWER.  27 

The  dark  to-day  leads  into  light  to-morrow; 
There  is  no  endless  joy,  no  endless  sorrow. 

Are  you  upon  earth's  heights?     No  cloud  in  view? 
Go  read  your  motto  once  again :     This  too 

Shall  pass  away ;  fame,  glory,  place  and  power, 
They  are  but  little  baubles  of  the  hour, 

Flung  by  the  ruthless  years  down  in  the  dust. 
Take  warning  and  be  worthy  of  God's  trust. 

Use  well  your  prowess  while  it  lasts;  leave  bloom, 
Not  blight,  to  mark  your  footprints  to  the  tomb. 

The  truest  greatness  lies  in  being  kind, 
The  truest  wisdom  in  a  happy  mind. 

He  who  desponds,  his  Maker's  judgment  mocks; 
The  gloomy  Christian  is  a  paradox. 

Only  the  sunny  soul  respects  its  God. 

Since  life  is  short  we  need  to  make  it  broad; 

Since  life  is  brief  we  need  to  make  it  bright. 
Then  keep  the  old  king's  motto  well  in  sight, 

And  let  its  meaning  permeate  each  day. 
Whatever  comes,   This  too  shall  pass  away. 


28  POEMS  OF  POWER. 


SUCCESS. 

NO  mortal  yet  has  measured  his  full  force. 
It  is  a  river  rising  in  God's  thought 
And  emptying  in  the  soul  of  man.      Go  back, 
Back  to  the  Source,  and  find  divinity. 
Forget  the  narrow  borders,  and  ignore 
The  rocks  and  chasms  which  obstruct  the  way. 
Remember  the  beginning.     Man  may  be 
And  do  the  thing  he  wishes  if  he  keeps 
That  one  thought  dominant  through  night  and  day, 
And  knows  his  strength  is  limitless  because 
Its  Fountainhead  is  God.     That  mighty  stream 
Shall  bear  upon  its  breast,  like  golden  fleets, 
His  hopes,  his  efforts  and  his  purposes, 
To  anchor  in  the  harbor  of  Success. 


POEMS  OF  POWER.  29 


RECRIMINATION. 
I. 

CAID  Life  to  Death,  "Methinks  if  I  were  you 
ij      I  would  not  carry  such  an  awesome  face 
To  terrify  the  helpless  human  race. 
And  if,  indeed,  those  wondrous  tales  be  true 
Of  happiness  beyond,  and  if  I  knew 
About  the  boasted  blessings  of  that  place, 
I  would  not  hide  so  miserly  all  trace 
Of  my  vast  knowledge,  Death,  if  I  were  you. 
But  like  a  glorious  angel  I  would  lean 
Above  the  pathway  of  each  sorrowing  soul, 
Hope  in  my  eyes,  and  comfort  in  my  breath, 
And  strong  conviction  in  my  radiant  mien, 
The  while  I  whispered  of  that  beauteous  goal. 
This  would  I  do,  if  I  were  you,  O  Death!" 

II. 

Said  Death  to  Life,  "If  I  were  you,  my  friend, 
1  would  not  lure  confiding  souls  each  day 
With  fair  false  smiles,  to  enter  on  a  way 
So  filled  with  pain  and  trouble  to  the  end. 
I  would  not  tempt  those  whom  I  should  defend, 
Nor  stand  immoved  and  see  them  go  astray. 
Nor  would  I  force  unwilling  souls  to  stay 


30  POEMS  OF  POWER. 

Who  longed  for  freedom,  were  I  you,  my  friend. 
But  like  a  tender  mother  I  would  take 
The  weary  world  upon  my  sheltering  breast 
And  wipe  away  its  tears,  and  soothe  its  strife. 
I  would  fulfill  my  promises,  and  make 
My  children  bless  me  as  they  sank  to  rest, 
Where  now  they  curse — if  I  were  you,  O  Life!" 

III. 

Life  made  no  answer;  and  Deatli  spoke  again: 
4il  would  not  woo  from  God's  sweet  nothingness 
A  soul  to  being,  if  I  could  not  bless 
And  crown  it  with  all  joy.      If  unto  men 
My  face  seems  awesome,  tell  me,  Life,  why  then 
Do  they  pursue  me,  mad  for  my  caress, 
Believing  in  my  silence  lies  redress 
For  your  loud  falsehoods?    (So  Deatli  spoke  again.) 
Oh,  it  is  well  for  you  I  am  not  fair, 
Well  that  I  hide  behind  a  voiceless  tomb 
The  mighty  secrets  of  that  other  place. 
Else  would  you  stand  in  impotent  despair 
While    unfledged  souls    straight  from  the  mother 

womb 
Rushed  to  my  arms,  and  spat  upon  your  face." 


POEMS  OF  POWER.  31 


THREEFOLD. 
I. 

OUR  love  wakes  with  the  morning,  unafraid 
To  meet  the  little  worries  of  the  day. 
And  if  a  haggard  dawn,  dull  eyed  and  gray, 
Peers  in  upon  us  through  the  window  shade, 
Full  soon  love's  ringer,  rosy  tipped,  is  laid 
Upon  its  brow,  and  gloom  departs  straightway. 
All  outer  darkness  melts  before  that  ray 
Of  inner  light,  whereof  our  love  is  made, 
Each  petty  trouble  and  each  pigmy  care 
And  those  gaunt  visaged  duties  which  so  fill 
Life's  path  by  day,  do  borrow  of  love's  grace. 
Though  he  be  dear  alway,  and  debonaire 
In  the  bright  morning  best  he  proves  his  skill 
Lending  his  lustre  to  the  Commonplace. 

II. 

Our  love  looks  boldly  in  the  moon's  bold  eyes. 
He  has  no  thing  to  hide,  no  thing  to  fear. 
And  if  the  world  stands  far  or  hurtles  near 
He  walks  alway,  serene,  without  disguise, 
Naked  and  not  ashamed  beneath  the  skies. 
He  does  not  need  dark  backgrounds  to  appear 
Radiant,  for  even  through  the  broad  day's  clear 


32  POEMS  OF  POWER. 

Effulgence  his  supernal  beauties  rise. 
Oh,  there  be  loves  that  hide  till  day  is  done: 
Nocturnal  loves,  like  silent  birds  of  prey: 
Secretive  loves  that  do  not  dare  rejoice. 
Ours  is  an  eagle  that  can  face  the  sun. 
A  wholesome  love  that  glories  in  the  day, 
And  finds  a  rapture  in  its  own  glad  voice. 

III. 

Our  love  augments  in  beauty  when  the  night 
Shuts  in  our  world  between  fdur  sheltering  walls. 
Fair  is  the  day  and  yet  its  splendor  palls. 
Dear  are  the  shadows  that  obscure  the  light, 
And  dear  the  stars  that  tiptoe  into  sight, 
And  when  the  curtain  of  deep  darkness  falls 
Then  heart  to  heart  in  clearer  accent  calls 
And  the  whole  Universe  is  Love's  by  right. 
There  is  no  vexing  world  to  interfere, 
No  sorrow  save  the  all  too  rapid  flow 
Of  time's  swift  river  sweeping  on  and  on. 
We  two  are  masters  of  this  silent  sphere. 
Love  is  the  only  duty  that  we  know — 
Our  only  fear,  the  menace  of  the  dawn. 


POEMS  OF  POWER.  33 


WISHING. 

DO  you  wish  the  world  were  better? 
Let  me  tell  you  what  to  do. 
Set  a  watch  upon  your  actions, 

Keep  them  always  straight  and  true. 
Rid  your  mind  of  selfish  motives, 

Let  your  thoughts  be  clean  and  high. 
You  can  make  a  little  Eden 
Of  the  sphere  you  occupy. 

Do  you  wish  the  world  were  wiser? 

Well,  suppose  you  make  a  start, 
By  accumulating  wisdom 

In  the  scrapbook  of  your  heart; 
Do  not  waste  one  page  on  folly; 

Live  to  learn,  and  learn  to  live. 
If  you  want  to  give  men  knowledge 

You  must  get  it,  ere  you  give. 

Do  you  wish  the  world  were  happy? 

Then  remember  day  by  day 
Just  to  scatter  seeds  of  kindness 

As  you  pass  along  the  way, 
For  the  pleasures  of  the  many 

May  be  ofttimes  traced  to  one, 
As  the  hand  that  plants  an  acorn 

Shelters  armies  from  the  sun. 

8 


34  POEMS  OF  POWER. 


WE  TWO. 

WE  two  make  home  of  any  place  we  go; 
We- two  find  joy  in  any  kind  of  weather; 
9r  if  the  earth  is  clothed  in  bloom  or  snow, 
If  summer  days  invite,  or  bleak  winds  blow, 
What  matters  it  if  we  two  are  together? 
We  two,  we  two,  we  make  our  world,  our  weather. 

We  two  make  banquets  of  the  plainest  fare; 

In  every  cup  we  find  the  thrill  of  pleasure; 
We  hide  with  wreaths  the  furrowed  brow  of  care 
And  win  to  smiles  the  set  lips  of  despair. 

For  us  life  always  moves  with  lilting  measure; 

We  two,  we  two,  we  make  our  world, our  pleasure. 

We  two  find  youth  renewed  with  every  dawn ; 

Each  day  holds  something  of  an  unknown  glory. 
We  waste  no  thought  on  grief  or  pleasure  gone ; 
Tricked  out  like  hope,  time  leads  us  on  and  on, 

And  thrums  upon  his  harp  new  song  or  story. 

We  two,  we  two,  we  find  the  paths  of  glory. 

We  two  make  heaven  here  on  this  little  earth; 

We  do  not  need  to  wait  for  realms  eternal. 
We  know  the  use  of  tears,  know  sorrow's  worth, 
And  pain  for  us  is  always  love's  rebirth. 

Our  paths  lead  closely  by  the  paths  supernal; 

We  two,  we  two,  we  live  in  love  eternal. 


w 


POEMS  OF  POWER. 


THE   POET'S  THEME. 

What  is  the  explanation  of  the  strange  silence 
of  American  poets  concerning  America's  tri 
umphs  on  sea  and  land?" — Literary  Digest. 

HY  should  the  poet  of  these  pregnant  times 
Be  asked  to  sing  of  war's  unholy  crimes? 


To  laud  and  eulogize  the  trade  which  thrives 
On  horrid  holocausts  of  human  lives. 

Man  was  a  fighting  beast  when  earth  was  young 
And  war  the  only  theme  when  Homer  sung. 

'Twixt  might  and  might  the  equal  contest  lay; 
Not  so  the  battles  of  our  modern  day. 

Too  often  now  the  conquering  hero  struts 
A  Gulliver  among  the  Liliputs. 

Success  no  longer  rests  on  skill  or  fate 
But  on  the  movements  of  a  syndicate. 

Of  old  men  fought  and  deemed  it  right  and  just. 
To-day  the  warrior  fights  because  he  must, 

And  in  his  secret  soul  feels  shame  because 
He  desecrates  the  higher  manhood's  laws. 

Oh,  there  are  worthier  themes  for  poet's  pen 
In  this  great  hour,  than  bloody  deeds  of  men 


36  POEMS  OF  POWER. 

Or  triumphs  of  one  hero  (though  he  be 
Deserving  song  for  his  humility). 

The  rights  of  many — not  the  worth  of  one — 
The  coming  issues,  not  the  battle  done, 

The  awful  opulence,  and  awful  need — 
The  rise  of  brotherhood — the  fall  of  greed. 

The  soul  of  man  replete  with  God's  own  force, 
The  call  "to  heights"  and  not  the  cry,  44to  horse" — 

Are  there  not  better  themes  in  this  great  age 
For  pen  of  poet,  or  for  voice  of  sage 

Than  those  old  tales  of  killing?     Song  is  dumb 
Only  that  greater  song  in  time  may  come. 

When  comes  the  bard,  he  whom  the  world  waits  for, 
He  will  not  sing  of  War. 


POEMS  OF  POWER.  37 


LOVE   IS   ALL! 

LET  Labor  boldly  walk  abroad 
And  take  its  place  with  kings, 
For  who  has  labored  more  than  God, 
The  maker  of  all  things? 

The  time  has  come,  aye,  even  now  it  is, 
To  rank  that  parable  in  Genesis 
Of  God's  great  curse  of  labor  placed  on  man, 
With  other  fairy  tales.     Why,  He  began 
All  work  Himself!     He  was  so  full  of  force 
He  flung  the  solar  systems  on  their  course 
And  builded  worlds  on  worlds;  and,  not  content, 
He  labors  still:  when  mighty  suns  are  spent, 
He  forges  on  His  white-hot  anvil — space- 
New  stars  to  tell  His  glory  and  His  grace. 

Who  most  achieves  is  most  like  God,  I  hold ; 
The  idler  is  the  black  sheep  in  the  fold. 

Not  for  the  hardened  toiler  with  the  hoe 
My  tears  of  sorrow  and  compassion  flow. 
Though  he  be  dull,  unlettered  and  not  fair 
To  look  upon;  tho'  he  is  bowed  with  care, 
Yet  in  his  heart  if  dear  love  fold  its  wings, 
He  stands  a  monarch  over  unloved  kings. 


38  POEMS  OF  POWER. 

One  sorrow  only  in  God's  world  has  birth— 
To  live  unloving  and  unloved  on  earth; 
One  joy  alone  makes  life  a  part  of  heaven— 
The  joy  of  happy  love,  received  and  given. 

Down  through  the  chaos  of  our  human  laws 
Love  shines  supreme,  the  great  Eternal  Cause. 
God  loved  so  much  His  thoughts  burst  into  flame, 
And  from  that  sacred  source  Creation  came. 
The  heart  which  feels  this  holy  light  within 
Finds  God  and  man  and  beast  and  bird  its  kin. 
All  class  distinctions  fade  and  disappear. 
Death  is  new  life,  and  heaven  he  sees  a-near. 
Brother  is  he  to  "ox"  and  "seraphim," 
"Slave  to  the  wheel,"  mayhap,  yet  kings  to  him, 
And  millionaires,  seem  paupers,  if  from  them 
Life  has  withheld  its  luminous  great  gem. 
Or  if  his  badge  be  sceptre,  hoe  or  hod, 
That  man  is  king  who  knows  that  love  is  God. 


POEMS  OF  POWER.  39 


SONG  OF  THE   SPIRIT. 

ALL  the  aim  of  life  is  just 
Getting  back  to  God. 
Spirit  casting  off  its  dust, 

Getting  back  to  God. 
Every  grief  we  have  to  bear, 
Disappointment,  cross,  despair, 
Each  is  but  another  stair 
Climbing  back  to  God. 

Step  by  step  and  mile  by  mile, — 

Getting  back  to  God. 
Nothing  else  is  worth  the  while — 

Getting'  back  to  God. 
Light  and  shadow  fill  each  day, 
Joys  and  sorrows  pass  away, 
Smile  at  all,  and  smiling,  say, 

Getting  back  to  God. 

Do  not  wear  a  mournful  face 

Getting  back  to  God. 
Scatter  sunshine  on  the  place 

Going  back  to  God. 
Take  what  pleasure  you  can  find, 
But  where'er  your  paths  may  wind, 
Keep  the  purpose  well  in  mind, — 

Getting  back  to  God. 


40  POEMS  OF  POWER. 

WOMANHOOD. 

r*HE    must  be  honest,  both  in  thought  and  deed, 
\J      Of  generous  impulse,  and  above  all  greed ; 
Not  seeking  praise,  or  place,  or  power,  or  pelf, 
But  life's  best  blessings  for  her  higher  self, 
Which  means  the  best  for  all. 

She  must  have  faith, 

To  make  good  friends  of  Trouble,  Pain  and  Death, 
And  understand  their  Message. 

She  should  be 

As  redolent  with  tender  sympathy 
As  is  a  rose  with  fragrance. 

Cheerfulness 

Should  be  her  mantle,  even  tho1  her  dress 
May  be  of  Sorrow's  weaving. 

On  her  face 

A  loyal  nature  leaves  its  seal  of  grace, 
And  chastity  is  in  her  atmosphere. 
Not  that  chill  chastity  which  seems  austere — 
(Like  untrod  snow  peaks,  lovely  to  behold 
Till  once  attained — then  barren,  loveless,  cold). 
But  the  white  flame  that  feeds  upon  the  soul 
And  lights  the  pathway  to  a  peaceful  goal. 
A  sense  of  humor,  and  a  touch  of  mirth, 
To  brighten  up  the  shadowy  spots  of  earth ; 
And  pride  that  passes  evil — choosing  good. 
All  these  unite  in  perfect  womanhood. 


POEMS  OF  POWER.  41 


MORNING   PRAYER. 

LET  me  to-day  do  something  that  shall  take 
A  little  sadness  from  the  world's  vast  store, 
And  may  I  be  so  favored  as  to  make 

Of  joy's  too  scanty  sum  a  little  more. 
Let  me  not  hurt,  by  any  selfish  deed 

Or  thoughtless  word,  the  heart  of  foe  or  friend; 
Nor  would  I  pass,  unseeing,  worthy  need, 

Or  sin  by  silence  when  I  should  defend. 
However  meager  be  my  worldly  wealth 

Let  me  give  something  that  shall  aid  my  kind, 
A  word  of  courage,  or  a  thought  of  health, 

Dropped  as  1  pass  for  troubled  hearts  to  find. 
Let  me  to-night  look  back  across  the  span 

'Twixt  dawn   and   dark,  and   to  my  conscience 
say — 

Because  of  some  good  act  to  beast  or  man — 
"The  world  is  better  that  I  lived  to-day." 


42  POEMS  OF  POWER. 


THE    VOICES   OF   THE    PEOPLE. 

OH,  I  hear  the  people  calling  through  the  day 
time  and  the  night  time, 
They  are  calling,  they  are  crying  for  the  coming  of 

the  right  time. 
It  behooves  you,  men  and  women,   it  behooves  you 

to  be  heeding, 

For  there  lurks  a  note  of  menace  underneath  their 
plaintive  pleading. 

Let  the  land  usurpers  listen,  let  the  greedy-hearted 
ponder, 

On  the  meaning  of  the  murmur,  rising  here  and 
swelling  yonder, 

Swelling  louder,  waxing  stronger,  like  a  storm-fed 
stream  that  courses 

Through  the  valleys,  down  abysses,  growing,  gain 
ing  with  new  forces. 

Day   by  day  the  river  widens,  that  great  river  of 

opinion, 
And  its  torrent  beats  and  plunges  at  the   base   of 

greed's  dominion. 
Though  you  dam  it  by  oppression  and  fling  golden 

bridges  o'er  it, 
Yet  the  day  and  hour  advances  when  in  fright  you 

flee  before  it. 


POEMS  OF  POWER.  43 

Yes,   I  hear  the  people  calling,   through  the  night 

time  and  the  day  time, 
Wretched  toilers  in  life's  autumn,  weary  young  ones 

in  life's  May  time— 
They  are  crying,  they  are  calling  for  their  share  of 

work  and  pleasure, 
You  are  heaping  high  your  coffers   while   you   give 

them  scanty  measure, 
You  have  stolen  God's  wide  acres,  just  to  glut  your 

swollen  purses — 
Oh,  restore  them  to  His  children  ere  their  pleading 

turns  to  curses. 


44  POEMS  OF  POWER. 


THE  WORLD  GROWS   BETTER. 

OH,  the  earth  is  full  of  sinning 
And  of  trouble  and  of  woe, 
But  the  devil  makes  an  inning 

Every  time  we  say  it's  so. 
And  the  way  to  set  him  scowling, 

And  to  put  him  back  a  pace, 
Is  to  stop  this  stupid  growling, 
And  to  look  things  in  the  face. 

If  you  glance  at  history's  pages, 

In  all  lands  and  eras  known, 
You  will  find  the  buried  ages 

Far  more  wicked  than  our  own. 
As  you  scan  each  word  and  letter, 

You  will  realize  it  more, 
That  the  world  to-day  is  better, 

Than  it  ever  was  before. 

There  is  much  that  needs  amending 

In  the  present  time,  no  doubt, 
There  is  right  that  needs  amending, 

There  is  wrong  needs  crushing  out. 
And  we  hear  the  groans  and  curses 

Of  the  poor  who  starve  and  die 
While  the  men  with  swollen  purses 

In  the  place  of  hearts,  go  by. 


POEMS  OF  POWER.  46 

But  in  spite  of  all  the  trouble 

That  obscures  the  sun  to-day 
Just  remember  it  was  double, 

In  the  ages  passed  away. 
And  those  wrongs  shall  all  be  righted, 

Good  shall  dominate  the  land, 
For  the  darkness  now  is  lighted 

By  the  torch  in  Science's  hand. 

Forth  from  little  motes  in  Chaos, 

We  have  come  to  what  we  are, 
And  no  evil  force  can  stay  us, 

We  shall  mount  from  star  to  star, 
We  shall  break  each  bond  and  fetter 

That  has  bound  us  heretofore, 
And  the  earth  is  surely  better, 

Than  it  ever  was  before. 


46  POEMS  OF  POWER. 


THE    BED. 

A  HARSH  and  homely  monosyllable, 
Abrupt  and  musicless,  and  at  its  best 
An  inartistic  object  to  the  eye, 
Yet  in  this  brief  and  troubled  life  of  man 
How  full  of  majesty  the  part  it  plays! 
It  is  the  cradle  which  receives  the  soul, 
Naked  and  wailing,  from  the  Maker's  hand. 
It  is  the  throne  of  Love's  enlightenment; 
And  when  death  offers  back  to  God  again 
The  borrowed  spirit,  this  the  holy  shrine 
From  which  the  hills  delectable  are  seen. 
Through  all  the  anxious  journey  to  that  goal 
It  is  man's  friend,  physician,  comforter. 
When  labor  wearies,  and  when  pleasure  palls, 
And  the  tired  heart  lets  faith  slip  from  its  grasp, 
'Tis  here  new  courage  and  new  strength  are  found, 
While  doubt  and  darkness  change  to  hope  and  light. 
It  is  the  common  ground  between  two  spheres 
Where  man  and  angels  meet  and  converse  hold, 
It  is  the  confidant  of  hidden  woe 
Masked  from  the  world  beneath  a  smiling  brow. 
Into  its  silent  breast  young  wakeful  joy 
Whispers  its  secret  through  the  starlit  hours, 
And  like  a  white-robed  priestess,  oft  it  hears 


POEMS  OF  POWER.  47 

The  wild  confession  of  a  crime-stained  soul 
That  looks  unflinching  in  the  eyes  of  men. 
A  common  word,  a  thing  unbeautiful, 
Yet  in  this  brief,  eventful  life  of  man 
How  large  and  varied  is  the  part  it  plays. 


48  POEMS  OF  POWEF 


DISCONTENT. 

THE  splendid  discontent  of  God 
With  chaos  made  the  world. 
Set  suns  in  place,  and  filled  all  space 
With  stars  that  shone  and  whirled. 

If  apes  had  been  content  with  tails, 

No  thing  of  higher  shape 
Had  come  to  birth:  the  king  of  earth 

To-day  would  be  an  ape. 

And  from  the  discontent  of  man 

The  world's  best  progress  springs. 

Then  feed  the  flame  (from  God  it  came), 
Until  you  mount  on  wings. 


POEMS  OF  POWER.  49 


A   MAN'S   IDEAL. 

A  LOVELY  little  keeper  of  the  home, 
Absorbed  in  menu  books,  yet  erudite 
When  I  need  counsel ;  quick  at  repartee 
And  slow  to  anger.     Modest  as  a  flower 
Yet  scintillant  and  radiant  as  a  star. 
Unmercenary  in  her  mould  of  mind, 
While  opulent  and  dainty  in  her  tastes. 
A  nature  generous  and  free,  albeit 
The  incarnation  of  economy. 
She  must  be  chaste  as  proud  Diana  was, 
Yet  warm  as  Venus.     To  all  others  cold 
As  some  white  glacier  glittering  in  the  sun; 
To  me  as  ardent  as  the  sensuous  rose 
That  yields  its  sweetness  to  the  burrowing  bee. 
All  ignorant  of  evil  in  the  world, 
And  innocent  as  any  cloistered  nun, 
Yet  wise  as  Phrynne  in  the  arts  of  love 
When  I  come  thirsting  to  her  nectared  lips. 
Good  as  the  best,  and  tempting  as  the  worst, 
A  saint,  a  siren,  and  a  paradox. 


60  POEMS  OF  POWER. 


WAR   SONNETS. 
I. 

WAR  is  destructive,  wasteful,  brutal,  yet 
The  energies  of  men  are  brought  to  play, 
And  hidden  valor  by  occasion  met 

Leaps  to  the  light,  as  precious  jewels  may 
When  earthquakes  rend  the  rock.     The  stress  and 
strain 

Of  war  stirs  men  to  do  their  worst  and  best. 
Heroes  are  forged  on  anvils  hot  with  pain 

And  splendid  courage  comes  but  with  the  test 
Some  natures  ripen  and  some  virtues  bloom 

Only  in  blood-red  soil;  some  souls  prove  great 
Only  in  moments  dark  with  death  or  doom. 

This  is  the  sad  historic  jest  which  fate 
Flings  to  the  world,  recurring  time  on  time. 
Many  must  fall  that  one  may  seem  sublime. 

II. 
Above  the  chaos  of  impending  ills, 

Through  all  the  clamor  of  insistent  strife, 
Now  while  the  noise  of  warring  nations  fills 

Each  throbbing  hour  with  menaces  to  life, 
I  hear  the  voice  of  Progress!     Strange  indeed 

The  shadowed  pathways  that  lead  up  to  light. 
But  as  a  runner  sometimes  will  recede 


POEMS  OF  POWER.  51 

That  he  may  so  accumulate  his  might, 
Then  with  a  will  that  needs  must  be  obeyed 

Rushes  resistless  to  the  goal  with  ease, 
So  the  whole  world  seems  now  to  retrograde, 

Slips  back  to  war,  that  it  may  speed  to  peace. 
And  in  that  backward  step  it  gathers  force 
For  the  triumphant  finish  of  its  course. 


52  POEMS  OF  PO  WER. 


MY    LAUNCH    AND    I. 

WHAT  glorious  times  we  have  together, 
My  launch  and  I,  in  the  summer  weather! 
My  trim  little  launch  with  its  sturdy  sides 
And  its  strong  heart  beating  away  as  it  glides 
Out  of  the  harbor  and  out  of  the  bay, 
Wherever  our  fancy  may  lead  away, 
Rollicking  over  the  salt  sea  track 
Hurrying  seaward  and  hurrying  back. 

My  boat  has  never  a  braggart  sail, 

To  boast  in  the  breeze,  in  the  calm  to  quail, 

No  tyrant  boom  deals  a  sudden  blow, 

Saying,  "You  are  my  lackey,  bend  low,  bend  low!" 

No  mast  struts  over  a  windless  sea 

To  show  how  powerless  pride  may  be. 

But  sure  and  steady  and  true  and  staunch 

It  bounds  o'er  the  billows, — my  little  launch. 

Ready  and  willing  and  quick  to  feel 
The  slightest  touch  of  my  hand  on  the  wheel 
It  laughs  in  the  teeth  of  a  driving  gale, 
Or  skims  by  the  cat-boat's  drooping  sail. 
Its  head  held  high  when  the  Sound  is  still, 
Then  dipping  its  prow  like  a  water  bird's  bill 


POEMS  OF  POWER.  53 

Down  under  the  waves  of  a  rolling  sea — 
Oh,  my  gay  little  launch  is  the  boat  for  me! 

Ofttimes  when  the  great  Sound  seethes  and  swirls 
I  carry  a  cargo  of  laughing  girls. 
Bare-armed,  bare-limbed,  and  with  hanging  hair 
They  are  bold  as  mermaids  and  twice  as  fair. 
They  swarm    from   the  cabin, — they  perch  on  the 

prow. 

When  the  tenth  wave  batters  them,  breast  and  brow, 
They  bloom  the  brighter,  as  sea  flowers  do 
While  their  shrill,  sweet  merriment  bursts  anew. 

And  oft  when  the  sunset  dyes  the  bay 
O'er  a  mirror-like  surface,  we  glide  away, 
My  launch  and  I,  to  follow  the  breeze 
That  has  jilted  the  shore  for  the  deeper  seas. 
When  the  full  moon  flirts  with  the  perigee  tide 
On  a  track  of  silver,  away  we  ride  — 
Oh,  glorious  times  we  have  together, 
My  boat  and  I,  in  the  summer  weather. 


POEMS  OF  POWER. 


THE  FIRE  BRIGADE. 

MARK !  high  o'er  the  rattle  and  clamor  and  clatter 
Of  traffic-filled  streets,  do  you  hear  that  loud 
noise? 

And  pushing  and  rushing  to  see  what's  the  matter, 
Like  herds  of  wild  cattle,  go  pell  mell  the  boys. 

There's  a  fire  in  the  city!  the  engines  are  coming! 
The  bold  bells  are  clanging,     "Make  way  in  the 

street!" 

The  wheels  of  the  hose-cart  are  spinning  and  hum 
ming 
In  time  to  the  music  of  galloping  feet. 

Make  way  there!  make  way  there!  the  horses  are 

flying, 
The  sparks  from  their  swift  hoofs  shoot  higher 

and  higher, 

The  crowds  are  increasing — the  gamins  are  crying: 
"Hooray,  boys!"    "Hooray,  boys!"     "Come  on 
to  the  fire!" 

With  clanging  and  banging  and  clatter  and  rattle, 
The  long  ladders  follow  the  engine  and  hose. 

The  men  are  all  ready  to  dash  into  battle ; 

But  will  they  come  out  again?  God  oa^y  knows. 


POEMS  OF  POWER.  55 

At  windows  and  doorways  crowd  questioning  faces; 

There's  something-  about  it  that  quickens  one's 

breath. 
How  proudly  the  brave  fellows  sit  in  their  places— 

And  speed  to  the  conflict  that  may  be  their  death. 

Still  faster  and  faster  and  faster  and  faster 

The  grand  horses  thunder  and  leap  on  their  way. 

The  red  foe  is  yonder  and  may  prove  the  master; 
Turn   out   there,    bold    traffic — turn   out   there, 
I  say! 

For  once  the  loud  truckman  knows  oaths  will  not 

matter, 

And  reins  in  his  horses  and  yields  to  his  fate. 
The  engines  are  coming !  let  pleasure  crowds  scatter, 
Let  street  car  and  truckman  and  mail  wagon 
wait. 

They  speed  like  a  comet — they  pass  in  a  minute, 
The  boys  follow  on  like  a  tail  to  a  kite; 

The  commonplace  street  has  but  traffic  now  in  it, 
The  great  fire  engines  have  swept  out  of  sight, 


56  POEMS  OF  POWER. 


I 


PROGRESS. 

N  its  giving  and  its  getting,  in  its  smiling  and  its 

fretting, 
In  its  peaceful  years  of  toiling  and  its  awful  days 

of  war, 
Ever  on  the  world  is  moving   and  all  human  life    is 

proving 

It  is  reaching  toward  the  purpose  that  the  great 
God  meant  it  for. 

Through  its  laughing  and  its  weeping,  through  its 

losing  and  its  keeping, 
Through  its  follies  and  its  labors,   weaving  in 

and  out  of  sight 
To   the  end  from  the  beginning,  through  all  virtue 

and  all  sinning 

Reeled  from  God's  great  spool  of  Progress,  runs 
the  golden  thread  of  Right. 

All  the  darkness  and  the  errors,  all  the  sorrows  and 

the  terrors 
Time   has  painted   in   the   background  on  the 

canvas  of  the  World, 
All  the  beauty  of  life's  story  he  will  do  in  tones  of 

glory 

When   these   final  blots  of    shadows  from  his 
brushes  have  been  hurled 


POEMS  OF  POWER.  57 


THE  TIDES. 

BE  careful  what  rubbish  you  toss  in  the  tide. 
On  outgoing  billows  it  drifts  from  your  sight, 
But  back  on  the  incoming  waves  it  may  ride 

And  land  at  your  threshold  again  before  night. 
Be  careful  what  rubbish  you  toss  in  the  tide. 

Be  careful  what  follies  you  toss  in  life's  sea. 

On  bright  dancing  billows  they  drift  far  away, 
But  back  on  the  Nemesis  tides  they  may  be 

Thrown  down  at  your  threshold  unwelcome  day. 
Be  careful  what  follies  you  toss  in  youth's  sea. 


58  POEMS  OF  POirER. 


THAT  DAY. 

O  HEART  of  mine,  through  all  those  perfect 
days, 

Whether  of  white  Decembers  or  green  Mays, 
There  runs  a  dark  thought  like  a  creeping  snake, 
Or  like  a  black  thread  which  by  some  mistake 
Life  has  strung  through  the  pearls  of  happy  years, 
A  thought  which  borders  all  my  joy  with  tears. 

Some  day,  some  day,  or  you,  or  I,  alone, 

Must  look  upon  the  scenes  we  two  have  known, 

Must  tread  the  selfsame  paths  we  two  have  trod, 

And  cry  in  vain  to  one  who  is  with  God, 

To  lean  down  from  the  Silent  Realms  and  say: 

44 1  love  you"  in  the  old  familiar  way. 

Some  day — and  each  day,  beauteous  though  it  be, 
Brings  closer  that  dread  hour  for  you  or  me. 
Fleet-footed  joy,  who  hurries  time  along, 
Is  yet  a  secret  foe  who  does  us  wrong; 
Speeding  us  gayly,  though  he  well  doth  know 
Of  yonder  pathway  where  but  one  may  go. 

Ay,  one  will  go.     To  go  is  sweet,  1  wis — 
Yet  God  must  needs  invent  some  special  blisi 
To  make  his  Paradise  seem  very  dear 


POEMS  OF  POWER.  59 

To  one  who  goes  and  leaves  the  other  here. 
To  sever  souls  so  bound  by  love  and  time, 
For  any  one  but  God,  would  be  a  crime. 

Yet  death  will  entertain  his  own,  I  think. 
To  one  who  stays  life  gives  the  gall  to  drink; 
To  one  who  stays,  or  be  it  you,  or  me, 
There  waits  the  Garden  of  Gethsemane. 
Oh,  dark,  inevitable,  and  awful  day, 
When  one  of  us  must  go  and  one  must  stay! 


60  POEMS  OF  POWER. 


SO  MANY  WAYS. 
I. 

EARTH  has  so  many  ways  of  being  fair: 
Its  sweet  young  Spring,    its  Summer  clothed 
in  light, 

Its  regal  Autumn  trailing  into  sight 
As  Summer  wafts  her  last  kiss  on  the  air. 
Bold  virile  Winter  with  the  wind-blown  hair 
And  the  broad  beauty  of  a  world  in  white. 
Mysterious  dawn,  high  noon,  and  pensive  night, 
And  over  all  God's  great  worlds  watching  there. 
The  voices  of  the  birds  at  break  of  day; 
The  smell  of  young  buds  bursting  on  the  tree; 
The  soft  suggested  promises  of  bliss, 
Uttered  by  every  subtle  voice  of  May; 
And  the  strange  wonder  of  the  mighty  sea, 
Lifting  its  cheek  to  take  the  full  moon's  kiss. 

II. 

Love  has  so  many  ways  of  being  sweet. 
The  timorous  rose-hued  dawning  of  its  reign 
Before  the  senses  waken;  that  dear  pain 
Of  mingled  doubt  and  certainty:  the  fleet 
First  moment  when  the  clasped  hands  meet 
In  wordless  eloquence ;  the  loss  and  gain 


POEMS  OF  PO  WER.  61 

When  the  strong  billows  from  the  deeper  main 

Submerge  the  valleys  of  the  incomplete. 

The  restless  passion  rising  into  peace; 

The  growing  beauty  of  two  paths  that  blend 

Into  one  perfect  way.     The  glorious  faith 

That  feels  no  fear  of  life's  expiring  lease. 

And  that  majestic  victory  at  the  end 

When  love,  unconquered,  triumphs  over  death. 


62  POEMS  OF  POWER. 


THE  PROTEST. 

AID  the  great  machine  of  iron  and  wood, 
"Lo,  I  am  a  creature  meant  for  good." 
Hut  the  criminal  clutch  of  Godless  greed 
Has  made  me  a  monster  that  scatters  need 
And  want  and  hunger  wherever  I  go. 
I  would  lift  men's  burdens  and  lighten  their  woe 
I  would  give  them  leisure  to  laugh  in  the  sun, 
If  owned  by  the  Many — instead  of  the  one. 

If  owned  by  the  people,  the  whole  wide  earth 
Should  learn  my  purpose  and  know  my  worth. 
I  would  close  the  chasm  that  yawns  in  our  soil 
'Twixt  unearned  riches  and  ill-paid  toil. 
No  man  should  hunger,  and  no  man  labour 
To  fill  the  purse  of  an  idle  neighbour; 
And  each  man  should  know  when  his  work  was  done, 
Were  I  shared  by  the  Many — not  owned  by  one. 

1  am  forced  by  the  few  with  their  greed  for  gain, 
To  forge  for  the  many  new  fetters  of  pain. 
Yet  this  is  my  purpose,  and  ever  will  be 
To  set  the  slaves  of  the  workshop  free. 
God  hasten  the  day  when,  overjoyed 
That  desperate  host  of  the  unemployed 
Shall  hear  my  message  and  understand, 
And  hail  me  friend  in  an  opulent  land. 


POEMS  OF  PO  WER.  63 


THE  SNOWFLAKE. 

ALL  sheltered  by  the  mother-cloud 
The  little  flake  looked  down; 
It  saw  the  city's  seething  crowd, 
It  saw  the  shining  town. 

"How  fair  and  far  those  steeples  rise 

To  greet  us,  mother  dear! 
It  is  so  lovely  in  the  skies, 

Why  do  we  linger  here? 

"The  south  wind  says  the  merry  earth 

Is  full  of  life  and  glow; 
I  long  to  mingle  with  its  mirth— 

O  mother!  let  us  go." 

The  mother-cloud  reached  out  her  arm, 
"Oh,  little  flake,"  quoth  she, 

"The  earth  is  full  of  sin  and  harm, 
Bide  here,  bide  here,  with  me." 

But  when  the  pale  cloud-mother  slept. 

The  north  wind  whispered  "Fly!" 
And  from  her  couch  the  snowflake  crept 

And  tiptoed  down  the  sky. 


64  POEMS  OF  POll 'ER. 

Before  the  Winter's  sun  his  fleet 
Brief  journey  made  that  day, 

All  soiled  and  blackened  in  the  street, 
The  little  snowflake  lay. 


POEMS  OF  PO  WER.  65 

GOD'S  MOTTO. 

THIS  is  the  season  of  wooing  and  mating-, 
The  heart  of  Nature  calls  out  for  its  own, 
And  God  have  pity  on  those  who  are  waiting 

The  fair  unfolding  of  Spring,  alone. 
For  the  fowls  fly  north  in  pairs  together, 

And  two  by  two  are  the  leaves  unfurled, 
And  the  whole  intent  of  the  wind  and  weather 
Is  to  waken  love,  in  the  thought  of  the  world. 

Up  through  the  soil  where  the  grass  is  springing, 

To  flaunt  green  flags  in  the  golden  light, 
Each  little  sprout  its  mate  is  bringing 

(Oh,  one  little  sprout  were  a  lonely  sight). 
We  wake  at  dawn  with  the  silvery  patter 

Of  bird-notes  falling  like  showers  of  rain, 
And  need  but  listen  to  prove  their  chatter 

The  amorous  echo  of  love's  sweet  pain. 

In  the  buzz  of  the  bee  and  the  strong  steed's  neigh 
ing, 

In  the  bursting  bud  and  the  heart's  unrest, 
The  voice  of  Nature  again  is  saying, 

In  God's  own  motto,  that  love  is  best 
For  this  is  the  season  of  wooing  and  mating, 

The  heart  of  Nature  calls  out  for  its  own ; 
And  oh,  the  sorrow  of  souls  that  are  waiting 

The  soft  unfolding  of  Spring,  alone. 


66  POEMS  OF  POWER. 


HOW  LIKE  THE  SEA. 

HOW  like  the  sea,  the  myriad-minded  sea, 
Is  this  large  love  of  ours:  so  vast,  so  deep, 
So  full  of  mysteries!  it,  too,  can  keep 
Its  secrets,  like  the  ocean;  and  is  free, 
Free,  as  the  boundless  main.     Now  it  may  be 
Calm  like  the  brow  of  some  sweet  child  asleep; 
Again  its  seething  billows  surge  and  leap 
And  break  in  fulness  of  their  ecstasy. 

Each  wave  so  like  the  wave  which  came  before, 
Yet  never  two  the  same !     Imperative 
And  then  persuasive  as  the  cooing  dove, 
Encroaching  ever  on  the  yielding  shore — 
Ready  to  take;  yet  readier  still  to  give — 
How  like  the  myriad-minded  sea,  is  love. 


POEMS  OF  POWER.  67 


I 


TRUE  CHARITY. 

GAVE  a  beggar  from  my  little  store 
Of  well-earned  gold.    He  spent  the  seining  ore 
And  came  again,  and  yet  again,  still  cold 
And  hungry,  as  before. 


I  gave  a  thought,  and  through  that  thought  of  mine 
He  found  himself,  the  man,  supreme,  divine! 

Fed,  clothed  and  crowned  with  blessings  man 
ifold. 

And  now  he  begs  no  more. 


68  POEMS  OF  POWER. 

WHEN  THE  REGIMENT  CAME  BACK- 

A,L  the  uniforms  were  blue,  all  the  swords  were 
bright  and  new, 
When   the   regiment   went  marching  down  the 

street, 
All  the  men  were  hale  and  strong  as  they  proudly 

moved  along, 
Through  the  cheers  that  drowned  the  music  of 

their  feet. 
Oh,  the  music  of  the  feet  keeping  time  to  drums 

that  beat, 

Oh,  the  splendor  and  the  glitter  of  the  sight, 
As  with  swords  and  rifles  new  and  in  uniforms  of 

blue, 
The  regiment  went  marching  to  the  fight. 

When    the   regiment   came  back  all  the  guns  and 

swords  were  black 

And  the  uniforms  had  faded  out  to  gray, 
And  the  faces  of  the  men  who  marched  through  that 

street  again 

Seemed  like  faces  of  the  dead  who  lose  their  way. 
For  the  dead  who  lose  their  way  can  not  look   more 

wan  and  gray. 

Oh,  the  sorrow  and  the  pity  of  the  sight, 
Oh,  the  weary  lagging  feet  out  of  step  with   drums 

that  beat, 
As  the  regiment  comes  marching  from  the  fight. 


POEMS  OF  POWER. 


WOMAN  TO  MAN  . 

"Woman  is  man's  enemy,  rival  and  competitor." — JOHN 
J.  INGALLS. 

YOU  do  but  jest,  sir,  and  you  jest  not  well, 
How  could  the  hand  be  enemy  of  the  arm, 
Or  seed  and  sod  be  rivals!     How  could  light 
Feel  jealousy  of  heat,  plant  of  the  leaf 
Or  competition  dwell  'twixt  lip  and  smile? 
Are  we  not  part  and  parcel  of  yourselves? 
Like  strands  in  one  great  braid  we  intertwine 
And  make  the  perfect  whole.     You  could  not  be, 
Unless  we  gave  you  birth;  we  are  the  soil 
From  which  you  sprang,  yet  sterile  were  that  soil 
Save  as  you  planted.     (Though  in  the  Book  we  read 
One  woman  bore  a  child  with  no  man's  aid 
We  find  no  record  of  a  man-child  born 
Without  the  aid  of  woman!     Fatherhood 
Is  but  a  small  achievement  at  the  best 
While  motherhood  comprises  heaven  and  hell.) 
This  ever-growing  argument  of^ex 
Is  most  unseemly,  and  devoid  of  sense. 
Why  waste  more  time  in  controversy,  when 
There  is  not  time  enough  for  all  of  love, 
Our  rightful  occupation  in  this  life. 
Why  prate  of  our  defects,  of  where  we  fail, 


70  POEMS  OF  PO  WER. 

When  just  the  story  of  our  worth  would  need 

Eternity  for  telling,  and  our  best 

Development  comes  ever  thro'  your  praise, 

As  through  our  praise  you  reach  your  highest  self. 

Oh!  had  you  not  been  miser  of  your  praise 

And  let  our  virtues  be  their  own  reward 

The  old  established  order  of  the  world 

Would  never  have  been  changed.   Small  blame  is  ours 

For  this  unsexing  of  ourselves,  and  worse 

Effeminizing  of  the  mala.     We  were 

Content,  sir,  till  you  starved  us,  heart  and  brain. 

All  we  have  done,  or  wise,  or  otherwise 

Traced  to  the  root,  was  done  for  love  of  you. 

Let  us  taboo  all  vain  comparisons, 

And  go  forth  as  God  meant  us,  hand  in  hand, 

Companions,  mates  and  comrades  evermore; 

Two  parts  of  one  divinely  ordained  whole. 


POEMS  OF  PO  WER.  71 

THE  TRAVELER. 

Reply  to  Rudyard  Kipling's    "He  travels  the  fastest  who 
travels  alone." 

WHO    travels    alone    with   his    eyes    on   the 
heights, 
Tho'  he  laughs  in  the  day  time  oft  weeps  in   the 

nights. 

For  courage  goes  down  at  the  set  of  the  sun 
When  the  toil  of  the  journey  is  all  borne  by  one. 

He  speeds  but  to  grief  tho'  full  gayly  he  ride 
Who  travels  alone  without  love  at  his  side. 

Who  travels  alone  without  lover  or  friend 

But  hurries  from  nothing,  to  naught  at  the  end. 

Tho'  great  be  his  winnings  and  high  be  his  goal 
He  is  bankrupt  in  wisdom  and  beggared  in  soul. 

Life's  one  gift  of  value  to  him  is  denied 
Who  travels  alone  without  love  at  his  side. 

It  is  easy  enough  in  this  world  to  make  haste 

If  one  live  for  that  purpose — but  think  of  the  waste. 

For  life  is  a  poem  to  leisurely  read 

And  the  joy  of  the  journey  lies  not  in  its  speed. 

Oh,  vain  his  achievement, and  petty  his  pride 
Who  travels  alone  without  love  at  his  side. 


72  POEMS  OF  PO  WER. 


THE  EARTH. 

THE  earth  is  yours  and  mine, 
Our  God's  bequest. 
That  testament  divine 
Who  dare  contest? 

Usurpers  of  the  earth, 

We  claim  our  share. 
We  are  of  royal  birth. 

Beware!  beware! 

Unloose  the  hand  of  greed 

From  God's  fair  land, 
We  claim  but  what  we  need — 

That,  we  demand. 


POEMS  OF  POWER.  73 


NOW. 

I   LEAVE  with  God,  to-morrow's  where  and  how, 
And  do  concern  myself  but  with  the  Now, 
That  little  word  though  half  the  future's  length 
Well  used,  holds  twice  its  meaning  and  its  strength. 

Like  one  blindfolded  groping  out  his  way, 
I  will  not  try  to  touch  beyond  to-day. 
Since  all  the  future  is  concealed  from  sight 
I  need  but  strive  to  make  the  next  step  right. 

That  done  the  next,  and  so  on,  till  I  find 

Perchance  some- day  I  am  no  longer  blind, 

And  looking  up,  behold  a  radiant  Friend 

Who  says,  * 4  Rest,  now,  for  you  have  reached  the  end. ' ' 


74  POEMS  OF  POWER. 


w 


YOU  AND  TO-DAY. 

ITH  every  rising  of  the  sun 
Think  of  your  life  as  just  begun. 


The  past  has  shrived  and  buried  deep 
All  yesterdays — there  let  them  sleep. 

Nor  seek  to  summon  back  one  ghost 
Of  that  innumerable  host. 

Concern  yourself  with  but  to-day. 
Woo  it  and  teach  it  to  obey, 

Your  wish  and  will.     Since  time  began 
To-day  has  been  the  friend  of  man. 

But  in  his  blindness  and  his  sorrow 
He  looks  to  yesterday  and  to-morrow. 

You  and  to-day!  a  soul  sublime 

And  the  great  pregnant  hour  of  time. 

With  God  between  to  bind  the  train — 
Go  forth  I  say— attain — attain. 


POEMS  OF  PO  WER,  75 


THE   REASON. 

DO  you  know  what  moves  the  tides 
As  they  swing  from  low  to  high? 
'Tis  the  love,  love,  love, 

Of  the  moon  within  the  sky. 
Oh,  they  follow  where  she  guides, 
Do  the  faithful  hearted  tides. 

Do  you  know  what  moves  the  earth 
Out  of  winter  into  spring? 

'Tis  the  love,  love,  love, 

Of  the  sun,  the  mighty  king. 

Oh,  the  rapture  that  finds  birth, 

In  the  kiss  of  sun  and  earth. 

Do  you  know  what  makes  sweet  songs 
Ring  for  me  above  earth's  strife? 

'Tis  the  love,  love,  love, 

That  you  bring  into  my  life, 

Oh,  the  glory  of  the  songs 

In  the  heart  where  love  belongs. 


7«  POEMS  OF  POWER. 


THE   CHAIN. 

EN  have  outgrown  the  worthless  creed, 

Which  bade  them  deem  it  God's  good  will, 
That  labor  sweat  and  starve  to  fill, 
And  glut  the  purse  of  idle  greed. 

They  have  outgrown  the  poor  content 

That  breeds  oppression.     Forged  by  pain, 
Mind  links  with  mind  in  one  great  chain 

Of  protest  and  of  argument. 

And  by  the  hand  of  progress  hurled, 
This  mighty  chain  of  human  thought, 
In  silence  and  in  anguish  wrought, 

Encompasses  the  pulsing  world. 

And  he  who  will  not  form  a  link 

Of  new  conditions  soon  to  be, 

Ere  long  must  stand  aghast  to  see, 
Old  systems  toppling  down  the  brink. 

They  cannot  and  they  shall  not  last. 
The  broader  impulse  of  the  day 
Will  gain  and  grow  and  sweep  away 

The  rank  injustice  of  the  past. 

The  purport  of  the  hour  is  vast. 

The  world  needs  justice.     It  demands 


POEMS  OF  PO  WER.  77 

United  hearts,  united  hands. 
The  day  of  charity  is  past. 

Let  no  man  think  he  can  despoil 

And  rob  his  kind  by  trick  and  fraud, 
And  at  the  last  make  peace  with  God 

By  tossing  alms  to  honest  toil. 

More  labor  for  the  selfish  few; 

More  leisure  for  the  burdened  mass; 

These  things  shall  surely  come  to  pass, 
As  old  conditions  change  to  new. 

They  change  thro'  strain  and  strike  and  strife, 
The  worst  but  speeds  the  final  best, 
Work  for  all  men — for  all  men  rest, 

And  time  to  taste  the  joys  of  life. 


78  POEMS  OF  PO  WER. 


MISSION. 

F  you  are  sighing  for  a  lofty  work, 

If  great  ambitions  dominate  your  mind, 
Just  watch  yourself  and  see  you  do  not  shirk 
The  common  little  ways  of  being  kind. 


I 


If  you  are  dreaming  of  a  future  goal, 

When  crowned  with  glory  men  shall  own  your 

power, 
Be  careful  that  you  let  no  struggling  soul 

Go  by  unaided  in  the  present  hour. 

If  you  are  moved  to  pity  for  the  earth, 
And  long  to  aid  it,  do  not  look  so  high, 

You  pass  some  poor,  dumb  creature  faint  with  thirst. 
All  life  is  equal  in  the  eternal  eye. 

If  you  would  help  to  make  the  wrong  things  right, 
Begin  at  home:  there  lies  a  lifetime's  toil. 

Weed  your  own  garden  fair  for  all  men's  sight, 
Before  you  plan  to  till  another's  soil. 

God  chooses  his  own  leaders  in  the  world, 

And  from  the  rest  he  asks  but  willing  hands. 

As  mighty  mountains  into  place  are  hurled, 

While  patient  tides  may  only  shape  the  sands. 


POEMS  OF  PO  WER.  79 


REPETITION. 

OVER  and  over  and  over 
These  truths  I  will  weave  in  song, 
That  God's  great  plan  needs  you  and  me, 
That  will  is  greater  than  destiny 

And  that  love  moves  the  world  along. 

However  mankind  may  doubt  it, 

It  shall  listen  and  hear  my  creed, 
That  God  may  ever  be  found  within — 
That  the  worship  of  self  is  the  only  sin, 

And  the  only  devil  is  greed. 

Over  and  over  and  over 

These  truths  I  will  say  and  sing, 
That  love  is  mightier  far  than  hate 
That  a  man's  own  thought  is  a  man's  own  fate, 

And  that  life  is  a  goodly  thing. 


80  POEMS  OF  POWER. 


BEGIN  THE  DAY. 

BEGIN  each  morning  with  a  talk  to  God, 
And  ask  for  your  divine  inheritance 
Of  usefulness,  contentment  and  success. 
Resign  all  fear,  all  doubt,  and  all  despair. 
The  stars  doubt  not,  and  they  are  undismayed. 
Though  whirled  through  space  for  countless  cen 
turies, 

And  told  not  why  or  wherefore:  and  the  sea 
With  everlasting  ebb  and  flow  obeys, 
And  leaves  the  purpose  with  the  unseen  Cause. 
The  star  sheds  radiance  on  a  million  worlds, 
The  sea  is  prodigal  with  waves,  and  yet 
No  luster  from  the  star  is  lost,  and  not 
One  drop  is  missing  from  the  ocean  tides. 
Oh,  brother  to  the  star  and  sea,  know  all 
God's  opulence  is  held  in  trust  for  those 
Who  wait  serenely  and  who  work  in  faith. 


POEMS  OF  POWER.  81 


WORDS. 

WORDS  are  great  forces  in  the  realm  of  life. 
Be  careful  of  their  use.    Who  talks  of  hate, 
Of  poverty,  of  sickness,  but  sets  rife 
These  very  elements  to  mar  his  fate. 

When  love,  health,  happiness  and  plenty  hear 
Their  names  repeated  over  day  by  day, 

They  wing  their  way  like  answering  fairies  near, 
Then  nestle  down  within  our  homes  to  stay. 

Who  talks  of  evil  conjures  into  shape 

The  formless  thing  and  gives  it  life  and  scope. 

This  is  the  law:  then  let  no  word  escape 

That  does  not  breathe  of  everlasting  hope. 


82  POEMS  OF  POWER. 


w 


FATE  AND  I. 

ISE  men  tell  me  thou,  O  Fate, 
Art  invincible  and  great. 


Well,  I  own  thy  prowess;  still 
Dare  I  flount  thee,  with  my  will. 

Thou  canst  shatter  in  a  span 
All  the  earthly  pride  of  man. 

Outward  things  thou  canst  control 
But  stand  back — I  rule  my  soul! 

Death?     'Tis  such  a  little  thing— 
Scarcely  worth  the  mentioning. 

What  has  death  to  do  with  me, 
Save  to  set  my  spirit  free? 

Something  in  me  dwells,  O  Fate, 
That  can  rise  and  dominate. 

Loss,  and  sorrow,  and  disaster, 

How,  then,  Fate,  art  thou  my  master? 

In  the  great  primeval  morn 
My  immortal  will  was  born. 


POEMS  OF  POWER.  83 

Part  of  that  stupendous  Cause 
Which  conceived  the  Solar  Laws. 

Lit  the  suns  and  filled  the  seas, 
Royalest  of  pedigrees. 

That  great  Cause  was  Love,  the  Source, 
Who  most  loves  has  most  of  Force. 

He  who  harbors  hate  one  hour 
Saps  the  soul  of  Peace  and  Power, 

He  who  will  not  hate  his  foe 
Need  not  dread  life's  hardest  blow. 

In  the  realm  of  brotherhood 
Wishing  no  man  aught  but  good. 

Naught  but  good  can  come  to  me. 
This  is  love's  supreme  decree. 

Since  I  bar  my  door  to  hate, 
What  have  I  to  fear,  O  Fate? 

Since  I  fear  not — Fate,  I  vow, 
I  the  ruler  am,  not  thou! 


84  POEMS  OF  POWER. 


UNTO  THE  END. 

KNOW  not  where  to-morrow's  paths  may  wend, 
Nor  what  the  future  holds;  but  this  I  know, 
Whichever  way  my  feet  are  forced  to  go, 
I  shall  be  given  courage  to  the  end. 


I 


Though  God  that  awful  gift  of  His  may  send 
We  call  long  life,  where  headstones  in  a  row 
Hide  all  of  happiness,  yet  be  it  so: 

I  shall  be  given  courage  to  the  end. 

If  dark  the  deepening  shadows  be,  that  blend 

With  life's  pale  sunlight  when  the  sun  dips  low, 
Though  joy  speeds  by  and  sorrow's  steps  are  slow, 

I  shall  be  given  courage  to  the  end. 

I  do  not  question  what  the  years  portend — 
Or  good  or  ill,  whatever  wind  may  blow; 
It  is  enough,  enough  for  me  to  know 

I  shall  be  given  courage  to  the  end. 


POEMS  OF  POWER.  85 


ATTAINMENT. 

USE  all  your  hidden  forces.      Do  not  miss 
The  purpose  of  this  life,  and  do  not  wait 
For  circumstance  to  mould  or  change  your  fate. 
In  your  own  self  lies  Destiny.     Let  this 
Vast  truth  cast  out  all  fear,  all  prejudice, 
All  hesitation.      Know  that  you  are  great, 
Great  with  divinity.     So  dominate 
Environment,  and  enter  into  bliss. 
Love  largely  and  hate  nothing.      Hold  no  aim 
That  does  not  chord  with  universal  good. 
Hear  what  the  voices  of  the  Silence  say, 
All  joys  are  yours  if  you  put  forth  your  claim. 
Once  let  the  spiritual  laws  be  understood, 
Material  things  must  answer  and  obey. 


86  POEMS  OF  POWER. 


A  PLEA  TO  PEACE. 

WHEN  mighty  issues  loom  before  us,  all 
The  petty  great  men  of  the  day  seem  small, 
Like  pigmies  standing  in  a  blaze  of  light 
Before  some  grim  majestic  mountain  height. 
War,  with  its  bloody  and  impartial  hand, 
Reveals  the  hidden  weakness  of  a  land, 
Uncrowns  the  heroes  trusting  Peace  has  made 
Of  men  whose  honor  is  a  thing  of  trade. 
And  turns  the  searchlight  full  on  many  a  place 
Where  proudconventions  long  have  masked  disgrace. 
Oh,  lovely  Peace !  as  thou  art  fair  be  wise. 
Demand  great  men  and  great  men  shall  arise 
To  do  thy  bidding.     Even  as  warriors  come, 
Swift  at  the  call  of  bugle  and  of  drum, 
So  at  the  voice  of  Peace,  imperative 
As  bugle's  call,  shall  heroes  spring  to  live 
For  country  and  for  thee.     In  every  land, 
In  every  age,  men  are  what  times  demand. 
Demand  the  best,  oh,  Peace,  and  teach  thy  sons 
They  need  not  rush  in  front  of  death-charged  guns 
With  murder  in  their  hearts  to  prove  their  worth. 
The  grandest  heroes  who  have  graced  the  earth 
Were  love-filled  souls  who  did  not  seek  the  fray, 
But  chose  the  safe,  hard,  high  and  lonely  way 


POEMS  OF  POWER.  87 

Of  selfless  labor  for  a  suffering  world. 

Beneath  our  glorious  flag  again  unfurled 

In  victory  such  heroes  wait  to  be 

Called  into  bloodless  action,  Peace,  by  thee. 

Be  thou  insistent  in  thy  stern  demand, 

And  wise,  great  men  shall  rise  up  in  the  land. 


POEMS   OF  POIVER. 

PRESUMPTION. 

WHENEVER  I  am  prone  to  doubt  or  wonder — 
I  check  myself,  and  say, "That  mighty  One 
Who  made  the  solar  system  can  not  blunder — 

And  for  the  best  all  things  are  being  done." 
Who  set  the  stars  on  their  eternal  courses 

Has  fashioned  this  strange  earth  by  some  sure 

plan. 

Bow  low,  bow  low  to  those  majestic  forces 
Nor  dare  to  doubt  their  wisdom — puny  man. 

You  can  not  put  one  little  star  in  motion, 

You  can  not  shape  one  single  forest  leaf, 
Nor  fling  a  mountain  up,  nor  sink  an  ocean, 

Presumptuous  pigmy,  large  with  unbelief. 
You  can  not  bring  one  dawn  of  regal  splendor 

Nor  bid  the  day  to  shadowy  twilight  fall, 
Nor  send  the  pale  moon  forth  with  radiance  tender, 

And  dare  you  doubt  the  One  who  has  done  all? 

"So    much    is    wrong,    there    is    such    pain  —  such 
sinning." 

Yet  look  again — behold  how  much  is  right! 
And  He  who  formed  the  world  from  its  beginning 

Knows  how  to  guide  it  upward  to  the  light. 
Your  task,  oh,  man,  is  not  to  carp  and  cavil 

At  God's  achievements,  but  with  purpose  strong 
To  cling  to  good,  and  turn  away  from  evil. 

That  is  the  way  to  help  the  world  along. 


POEMS  OF  POWER.  89 


HK3H  NOON. 

TIME'S  finger  on  the  dial  of  my  life 
Points  to  high  noon !  and  yet  the  half-spent  day 
Leaves  less  than  half  remaining,  for  the  dark, 
Bleak  shadows  of  the  grave  engulf  the  end. 

To  those  who  burn  the  candle  to  the  stick, 
The  sputtering  socket  yields  but  little  light. 
Long  life  is  sadder  than  an  early  death. 
We  cannot  count  on  raveled  threads  of  age 
Whereof  to  weave  a  fabric.     We  must  use 
The  warp  and  woof  the  ready  present  yields 
And  toil  while  daylight  lasts.     When  I  bethink 
How  brief  the  past,  the  future,  still  more  brief 
Calls  on  to  action,  action!     Not  for  me 
Is  time  for  retrospection  or  for  dreams, 
Not  time  for  self-laudation  or  remorse. 
Have  I  done  nobly?     Then  I  must  not  let 
D&ad  yesterday  unborn  to-morrow  shame. 
Have  I  done  wrong?     Well,  let  the  bitter  taste 
Of  fruit  that  turned  to  ashes  on  my  lip 
Be  my  reminder  in  temptation's  hour, 
And  keep  me  silent  when  I  would  condemn. 
Sometimes  it  takes  the  acid  of  a  sin 
To  cleanse  the  clouded  windows  of  our  souls 
So  pity  may  shine  through  them. 


90  POEMS  OF  POWER. 

Looking  back, 

My  faults  and  errors  seem  like  stepping-stones 
That  led  the  way  to  knowledge  of  the  truth 
And  made  me  value  virtue ;  sorrows  shine 
In  rainbow  colors  o'er  the  gulf  of  years, 
Where  lie  forgotten  pleasures. 

Looking  forth, 

Out  to  the  western  sky  still  bright  with  noon, 
I  feel  well  spurred  and  booted  for  the  strife 
That  ends  not  till  Nirvana  is  attained. 

Battling  with  fate,  with  men  and  with  myself, 

Up  the  steep  summit  of  my  life's  forenoon, 

Three    things    I  learned,  three  things   of    precious 

worth, 

To  guide  and  help  me  down  the  western  slope. 
I  have  learned  how  to  pray,  and  toil,  and  save; 
To  pray  for  courage  to  receive  what  comes, 
Knowing  what  comes  to  be  divinely  sent; 
To  toil  for  universal  good,  since  thus 
And  only  thus  can  good  come  unto  me; 
To  save,  by  giving  whatsoe'er  I  have 
To  those  who  have  not — this  alone  is  gain. 


POEMS  OF  POWER.  91 


THOUGHT-MAGNETS. 

WITH  each  strong  thought,  with  every  earnest 
longing 

For  aught  thou  deemest  needful  to  thy  soul, 
Invisible  vast  forces  are  set  thronging 
Between  thee  and  that  goal. 

'Tis  only  when  some  hidden  weakness  alters 
And  changes  thy  desire,  or  makes  it  less, 

That  this  mysterious  army  ever  falters 
Or  stops  short  of  success. 

Thought  is  a  magnet;  and  the  longed-for  pleasure, 
Or  boon,  or  aim,  or  object,  is  the  steel; 

And  its  attainment  hangs  but  on  the  measure 
Of  what  thy  soul  can  feeL 


92  POEMS  OF  POWER. 


SMILES. 

MILE  a  little,  smile  a  little, 

As  you  go  along, 
Not  alone  when  life  is  pleasant, 

But  when  things  go  wrong. 
Care  delights  to  see  you  frowning, 

Loves  to  hear  you  sigh ; 

Turn  a  smiling  face  upon  her, 

Quick  the  dame  will  fly. 

Smile  a  little,  smile  a  little, 

All  along  the  road ; 
Every  life  must  have  its  burden, 

Every  heart  its  load. 
Why  sit  down  in  gloom  and  darkness, 

With  your  grief  to  sup? 
As  you  drink  Fate's  bitter  tonic 

Smile  across  the  cup. 

Smile  upon  the  troubled  pilgrims 

Whom  you  pass  and  meet; 
Frowns  are  thorns,  and  smiles  are  blossoms 

Oft  for  weary  feet. 
Do  not  make  the  way  seem  harder 

By  a  sullen  face, 


POEMS  OF  PO  WER. 

Smile  a  little,  smile  a  little, 
Brighten  up  the  place. 

Smile  upon  your  undone  labor; 

Not  for  one  who  grieves 
O'er  his  task,  waits  wealth  or  glory; 

He  who  smiles  achieves. 
Though  you  meet  with  loss  and  sorrow 

In  the  passing  years, 
Smile  a  little,  smile  a  little, 

Even  through  your  tears. 


94  POEMS  OF  POWER. 


THE  UNDISCOVERED  COUNTRY. 

AN  has  explored  all  countries  and  all  lands, 

And  made  his  own  the  secrets  of  each  clime. 
Now,  ere  the  world  has  fully  reached  its  prime, 
The  oval  earth  lies  compassed  with  steel  bands, 
The  seas  are  slaves  to  ships  that  touch  all  strands, 
And  even  the  haughty  elements  sublime 
And  bold,  yield  him  their  secrets  for  all  time, 
And  speed  like  lackeys  forth  at  his  commands. 

Still,  though  he  search  from  shore  to  distant  shore, 
And  no  strange  realms,  no  unlocated  plains 

Are  left  for  his  attainment  and  control, 

Yet  is  there  one  more  kingdom  to  explore. 
Go,  know  thyself,  O  man !  there  yet  remains 

The  undiscovered  country  of  thy  soul! 


POEMS  OF  POWER.  96 


THE  UNIVERSAL  ROUTE. 

AS  we  journey  along",  with  a  laugh  and  a  song, 
We  see,   on  youth's  flower-decked  slope, 
Like  a  beacon  of  light,  shining  fair  on  the  sight, 
The  beautiful  Station  of  Hope. 

But  the  wheels  of  old  Time  roll  along  as  we  climb, 
And  our  youth  speeds  away  on  the  years; 

And  with  hearts  that  are  numb  with  life's  sorrows 

we  come 
To  the  mist-covered  Station  of  Tears. 

Still  onward  we  pass,  where  the  milestones,  alas! 

Are  the  tombs  of  our  dead,  to  the  West, 
Where  glitters  and  gleams,  in  the  dying  sunbeams, 

The  sweet,  silent  Station  of  Rest. 

All  rest  is  but  change,  and  no  grave  can  estrange 

The  soul  from  its  Parent  above; 
And,  scorning  the  rod,  it  soars  back  to  its  God, 

To  the  limitless  City  of  Love. 


96  POEMS  OF  POWER. 


UNANSWERED  PRAYERS. 

LIKE  some  school  master,  kind  in  being  stern, 
Who  hears  the  children  crying  o'er  their  slates 
And  calling,  "Help  me,  master!"  yet  helps   not, 
Since  in  his  silence  and  refusal  lies 
Their  self-development,  so  God  abides 
Unheeding  many  prayers.     He  is  not  deaf 
To  any  cry  sent  up  from  earnest  hearts; 
He  hears  and  strengthens  when  He  must  deny. 
He  sees  us  weeping  over  life's  hard  sums, 
But  should  He  give  the  key  and  dry  our  tears, 
What  would  it  profit  us  when  school  were  done 
And  not  one  lesson  mastered? 

What  a  world 

Were  this  if  all  our  prayers  were  answered.     Not 
In  famed  Pandora's  box  were  such  vast  ills 
As  He  in  human  hearts.     Should  our  desires, 
Voiced  one  by  one  in  prayer,  ascend  to  God 
And  come  back  as  events  shaped  to  our  wish, 
What  chaos  would  result! 

In  my  fierce  youth 

I  sighed  out  breath  enough  to  move  a  fleet, 
Voicing  wild  prayers  to  heaven  for  fancied  boons 
Which  were  denied;  and  that  denial  bends 
My  knee  to  prayers  of  gratitude  each  day 


POEMS  OF  POWER.  97 

Of  my  maturer  years.     Yet  from  those  prayers 

I  rose  alway  regirded  for  the  strife 

And  conscious  of  new  strength.  Pray  on,  sad  heart, 

That  which  thou  pleadest  for  may  not  be  given, 

But  in  the  lofty  altitude  where  souls 

Who  supplicate  God's  grace  are  lifted,  there 

Thou  shalt  find  help  to  bear  thy  daily  lot 

Which  is  not  elsewhere  found. 


POEMS  OF  POWER. 


THANKSGIVING. 

WE  walk  on  starry  fields  of  white 
And  do  not  see  the  daisies; 
For  blessings  common  in  our  sight 

We  rarely  offer  praises. 
We  sigh  for  some  supreme  delight 

To  crown  our  lives  with  splendor, 
And  quite  ignore  our  daily  store 
Of  pleasures  sweet  and  tender. 

Our  cares  are  bold  and  push  their  way 

Upon  our  thought  and  feeling. 
They  hang  about  us  all  the  day, 

Our  time  from  pleasure  stealing. 
So  unobtrusive  many  a  joy 

We  pass  by  and  forget  it, 
But  worry  strives  to  own  our  lives, 

And  conquers  if  we  let  it. 

There's  not  a  day  in  all  the  year 
But  holds  some  hidden  pleasure, 

And  looking  back,  joys  oft  appear 
To  brim  the  past's  wide  measure. 

But  blessings  are  like  friends,  I  hold, 
Who  love  and  labor  near  us. 


POEMS  OF  PO  WER.  99 

We  ought  to  raise  our  notes  of  praise 
While  living  hearts  can  hear  us. 

Full  many  a  blessing  wears  the  guise 

Of  worry  or  of  trouble ; 
Far-seeing  is  the  soul,  and  wise, 

Who  knows  the  mask  is  double. 
But  he  who  has  the  faith  and  strength 

To  thank  his  God  for  sorrow 
Has  found  a  joy  without  alloy 

To  gladden  every  morrow. 

We  ought  to  make  the  moments  notes 

Of  happy,  glad  Thanksgiving, 
The  hours  and  days  a  silent  phrase 

Of  music  we  are  living. 
And  so  the  theme  should  swell  and  grow 

As  weeks  and  months  pass  o'er  us, 
And  rise  sublime  at  this  good  time, 

A  grand  Thanksgiving  chorus. 


100  POEMS  OF  PO  WER. 


CONTRASTS. 

(SEE  the  tall  church  steeples, 
They  reach  so  far,  so  far; 
But  the  eyes  of  my  heart  see  the  world's 

great  mart 
Where  the  starving  people  are. 

1  hear  the  church  bells  ringing 

Their  chimes  on  the  morning  air; 

But  my  soul's  sad  ear  is  hurt  to  hear 
The  poor  man's  cry  of  despair 

Thicker  and  thicker  the  churches, 

Nearer  and  nearer  the  sky- 
But  alack  for  their  creeds  while  the  poor 

man's  needs 
Grow  deeper  as  years  roll  by. 


POEMS  OF  PO  WER.  101 


THY  SHIP. 

HADST  thou  a  ship,  in  whose  vast  hold  lay 
stored 

The  priceless  riches  of  all  climes  and  lands, 
Say,  wouldst  thou  let  it  float  upon  the  seas 
Unpiloted,  of  fickle  winds  the  sport, 
And  of  wild  waves  and  hidden  rocks  the  prey? 

Thine  is  that  ship;  and  in  its  depths  concealed 
Lies  all  the  wealth  of  this  vast  universe — 
Yea,  lies  some  part  of  God's  omnipotence, 
The  legacy  divine  of  every  soul. 
Thy  will,  O  man,  thy  will  is  that  great  ship, 
And  yet  behold  it  drifting  here  and  there — 
One  moment  lying  motionless  in  port, 
Then  on  high  seas  by  sudden  impulse  flung, 

Then  drying  on  the  sands,  and  yet  again 
Sent  forth  on  idle  quests  to  no-man's  land 
To  carry  nothing  and  to  nothing  bring; 
Till  worn  and  fretted  by  the  aimless  strife 
And  buffeted  by  vacillating  winds 
It  founders  on  a  rock,  or  springs  a  leak 
With  all  its  unused  treasures  in  the  hold. 

Go  save  thy  ship,  thou  sluggard;  take  the  wheel 
And  steer  to  knowledge,  glory  and  success. 


102  POEMS  OF  POWER. 

Great  mariners  have  made  the  pathway  plain 
For  thee  to  follow;  hold  thou  to  the  course 
Of  Concentration  Channel,  and  all  things 
Shall  come  in  answer  to  thy  swerveless  wish 
As  comes  the  needle  to  the  magnet's  call, 
Or  sunlight  to  the  prisoned  blade  of  grass 
That  yearns  all  winter  for  the  kiss  of  spring. 


POEMS  OF  POWER.  103 


LIFE. 

ALL  in  the  dark  we  grope  along, 
And  if  we  go  amiss 

We  learn  at  least  which  path  is  wrong, 
And  there  is  gain  in  this. 

We  do  not  always  win  the  race. 

By  only  running  right, 
We  have  to  tread  the  mountain's  base 

Before  we  reach  its  height. 

The  Christs  alone  no  errors  made ; 

So  often  had  they  trod 
The  paths  that  lead  through  light  and  shade, 

They  had  become  as  God. 

As  Krishna,  Buddha,  Christ  again, 

They  passed  along  the  way, 
And  left  those  mighty  truths  which  men 

But  dimly  grasp  to-day. 

But  he  who  loves  himself  the  last 

And  knows  the  use  of  pain, 
Though  strewn  with  errors  all  his  past, 

He  surely  shall  attain. 


104  POEMS  OF  POWER. 

Some  souls  there  are  that  needs  must  taste 
Of  wrong,  ere  choosing  right; 

We  should  not  call  those  years  a  waste 
Which  led  us  to  the  Ught. 


POEMS  OF  POWER.  105 


A  MARINE  ETCHING. 

A  YACHT  from  its  harbor  ropes  pulled  free, 
And  leaped  like  a  steed  o'er  the  race  track 

blue, 
Then  up  behind  her  the  dust  of  the  sea, 

A  gray  fog,  drifted,  and  hid  her  from  view. 


106  POEMS  OF  POWER. 


"LOVE  THYSELF  LAST." 

LOVE  thyself  last.     Look  near,  behold  thy  duty 
To  those  who  walk   beside  thee  down  life's 

road. 
Make  glad  their  days  by  little  acts  of  beauty 

And  help  them  bear  the  burden  of  earth's  load. 

Love  thyself  last.      Look  far  and  find  the  stranger, 
Who  staggers  'neath  his  sin  and  his  despair; 

Go  lend  a  hand,  and  lead  him  out  of  danger, 

To  heights  where  he  may  see  the  world  is  fair. 

Love  thyself  last.     The  vastnesses  above  thee 
Are  filled  with  Spirit  Forces,  strong  and  pure. 

And  fervently,  these  faithful  friends  shall  love  thee: 
Keep  thou  thy  watch  o'er  others   and  endure. 

Love  thyself  last;  and  oh,  such  joy  shall  thrill  thee, 
As  never  yet  to  selfish  souls  was  given. 

Whate'er  thy  lot,  a  perfect  peace  will  fill  thee, 
And  earth  shall  seem  the  ante-room  of  Heaven. 

Love  thyself  last,  and  thou  shall  grow  in  spirit 
To  see,  to  hear,  to  know,  and  understand. 

The  message  of  the  stars,  lo,  thou  shall  hear  it, 
And  all  God's  joys  shall  be  at  thy  command. 


POEMS  OF  POWER.  107 


CHRISTMAS  FANCIES. 

WHEN  Christmas  bells  are  swinging  above  the 
fields  of  snow, 

We  hear  sweet  voices  ringing  from  lands  of  long 
ago, 

And  etched  on  vacant  places 
Are  half  forgotten  faces 
Of  friends  we  used  to  cherish,  and  loves  we  used  to 

know — 

When  Christmas  bells  are  swinging  above  the  fields 
cf  snow. 

Uprising  from  the  ocean  of  the  present  surging  near, 
We  see,  with  strange  emotion  that  is  not  free  from 
fear, 

That  continent  Elysian 
Long  vanished  from  our  vision, 
Youth's  lovely  lost  Atlantis,  so  mourned  for  and  so 

dear, 

Uprising  from  the  ocean  of  the  present  surging 
near. 

When  gloomy  gray  Decembers  are  roused  to  Christ 
mas  mirth, 

The  dullest  life  remembers  there  once  was  joy  on 
earth, 


108  POEMS  OF  POWER. 

And  draws  from  youth's  recesses 
Some  memory  it  possesses, 
And,  gazing  through  the  lens  of  time,  exaggerates 

its  worth, 

When  gloomy  gray  December  is  roused  to  Christ 
mas  mirth. 

When  hanging  up  the  holly  or  mistletoe,  I  wis 
Each  heart  recalls  some  folly  that  lit   the    world 
with  bliss. 

Not  all  the  seers  and  sages 

With  wisdom  of  the  ages 
Can  give  the  mind  such  pleasure  as  memories  of 

that  kiss 
When  hanging  up  the  holly  or  mistletoe,  I  wis. 

For  life  was  made  for  loving,  and  love  alone  repays, 
As  passing  years  are  proving,  for  all  of  Time's  sad 
ways. 

There  lies  a  sting  in  pleasure, 
And  fame  gives  shallow  measure, 
And  wealth  is  but  a  phantom  that  mocks  the  rest 
less  days, 
For  life  was  made  for  loving,  and  only  loving  pays. 

When  Christmas  bells  are  pelting  the  air  with  silver 

chimes, 
And  silences  are  melting  to  soft,  melodious  rhymes, 


POEMS  OF  POWER.  109 

Let  Love,  the  world's  beginning, 
End  fear  and  hate  and  sinning; 
Let  Love,  the  God  Eternal,   be  worshiped  in  all 

climes 

When  Christmas  bells  are  pelting  the  air  with  silver 
chimes. 


110  POEMS  OF  POWER. 


THE  RIVER. 

I 


AM  a  river  flowing  from  God's  sea 
Throuj 
for  me 


Through  devious  ways.     He  mapped  my  course 


I  cannot  change  it;  mine  alone  the  toil 

To  keep  the  waters  free  from  grime  and  soil. 

The  winding  river  ends  where  it  began ; 

And  when  my  life  has  compassed  its  brief  span 

I  must  return  to  that  mysterious  source. 

So  let  me  gather  d'^ly  on  my  course 

The  perfume  from  the  blossoms  as  I  pass, 

Balm  from  the  pines,  and  healing  from  the  grass, 

And  carry  down  my  current  as  I  go 

Not  common  stones  but  precious  gems  to  show; 

And  tears  (the  holy  water  from  sad  eyes) 

Back  to  God's  sea,  from  which  all  rivers  rise. 

Let  me  convey,  not  blood  from  wounded  hearts, 

Nor  poison  which  the  upas  tree  imparts. 

When  over  flowery  vales  1  leap  with  joy, 

Let  me  not  devastate  them,  nor  destroy, 

But  rather  leave  them  fairer  to  the  sight; 

Mine  be  the  lot  to  comfort  and  delight. 

And  if  down  awful  chasms  I  needs  must  leap 

Let  me  not  murmur  at  my  lot,  but  sweep 

On  bravely  to  the  end  without  one  fear, 


POEMS  OF  POWER.  Ill 

Knowing  that   He   who  planned  my  ways  stands 

near. 

Love  sent  me  forth,  to  Love  I  go  again, 
For  Love  is  all,  and  over  all.     Amen. 


112  POEMS  OF  POWER. 


SORRY. 

THERE  is  much  that  makes  me  sorry  as  I  jour 
ney  down  life's  way, 
And  I  seem  to  see  more  pathos  in  poor  human  lives 

each  day. 
I'm  sorry  for  the  strong,  brave  men,  who  shield  the 

weak  from  harm, 

But  who,  in  their  own  troubled  hours,  find  no  pro 
tecting  arm. 

I'm  sorry  for  the  victors  who  have  reached  success, 

to  stand 
As  targets  for  .the  arrows  shot  by  envious  failure's 

hand. 
I'm  sorry  for  the  generous  hearts  who  freely  shared 

their  wine, 
But  drink  alone  the  gall  of  tears  in  fortune's  drear 

decline. 

I'm  sorry  for  the  souls  who  build  their  own  fame's 

funeral  pyre, 
Derided  by  the  scornful  throng  like  ice  deriding 

fire. 
I'm  sorry  for  the  conquering  ones  who  know  not 

sin's  defeat, 
But  daily  tread  down  fierce  desire  'neath  scorched 

and  bleeding  feet. 


POEMS  OF  POWER.  118 

I'm  sorry  for  the  anguished  hearts  that  break  with 

passion's  strain, 
But  I'm  sorrier  for  the  poor  starved  souls  that  never 

knew  love's  pain, 
Who  hunger  on  through  barren  years  not  tasting 

joys  they  crave, 
For  sadder  far  is  such  a  lot  than  weeping  o'er  a 

grave. 

I'm  sorry  for  the  souls  that  come  unwelcomed  into 
birth, 

I'm  sorry  for  the  unloved  old  who  cumber  up  the 
earth, 

I'm  sorry  for  the  suffering  poor  in  life's  great  mael 
strom  hurled, 

In  truth  I'm  sorry  for  them  all  who  make  this  ach 
ing  world. 

But  underneath  whate'er  seems    sad    and    is  not 

understood, 
I  know  there  lies  hid  from  our  sight  a  mighty  germ 

of  good. 
And  this  belief    stands  firm  by  me,   my  sermon, 

motto,  text — 
The  sorriest  things  in  this  life  will  seem  grandest 

in  the  next. 


114  POEMS  OF  PO  WER. 


I 


AMBITION'S  TRAIL. 

F  all  the  end  of  this  continuous  striving 

Were  simply  to  attain, 
How  poor  would  seem  the   planning  and  contriving 
The  endless  urging  and  the  hurried  driving 

Of  body,  heart  and  brain! 

But  ever  in  the  wake  of  true  achieving, 

There  shines  this  glowing  trail — 
Some  other  soul  will  be  spurred  on,  conceiving 
New  strength  and  hope,  in  its  own  power  believing. 
Because  thou  didst  not  fail. 

Not  thine  alone  the  glory,  nor  the  sorrow, 

If  thou  doth  miss  the  goal, 
Undreamed  of  lives  in  many  a  far  to-morrow 
From  thee  their  weakness  or  their  force  shall 
borrow — 

On,  on,  ambitious  souL 


POEMS  OF  POWER.  115 


UNCONTROLLED. 

THE  mighty  forces  of  mysterious  space 
Are  one  by  one  subdued  by  lordly  man. 
The  awful  lightning  that  for  eons  ran 
Their  devastating  and  untrammeled  race, 
Now  bear  his  messages  from  place  to  place 

Like  carrier  doves.     The  winds  lead  on  his  van; 
The  lawless  elements  no  longer  can 
Resist  his  strength,  but  yield  with  sullen  grace. 

His  bold  feet  scaling  heights  before  untrod, 

Light,  darkness,  air  and  water,  heat  and  cold 
He  bids  go   forth   and  bring  him  power  and 

pelf. 
And  yet,  though  ruler,  king  and  demi-god, 

He  walks  with  his  fierce  passions  uncontrolled 
The  conqueror  of  all  things — save  himself. 


1 16  POEMS  OF  PO  WER. 


WILL. 

YOU  will  be  what  you  will  to  be; 
Let  failure  find  its  false  content 
In  that  poor  word  4 'environment," 
But  spirit  scorns  it,  and  is  free. 

It  masters  time,  it  conquers  space, 
It  cowes  that  boastful  trickster  Chance, 
And  bids  the  tyrant  Circumstance 

Uncrown  and  fill  a  servant's  place. 

The  human  Will,  that  force  unseen, 
The  offspring  of  a  deathless  Soul, 
Can  hew  the  way  to  any  goal, 

Though  walls  of  granite  intervene. 

Be  not  impatient  in  delay, 
But  wait  as  one  who  understands; 
When  spirit  rises  and  commands, 

The  gods  are  ready  to  obey. 

The  river  seeking  for  the  sea 
Confronts  the  dam  and  precipice, 
Yet  knows  it  cannot  fail  or  miss; 

You  will  be  what  you  will  to  be! 


POEMS  OF  PO  WER.  117 


TO  AN  ASTROLOGER. 

NAY,  seer,  I  do  not  doubt  thy  mystic  lore, 
Nor  question  that  the  tenor  of  my  life, 
Past,  present  and  the  future,  is  revealed 
There  in  my  horoscope.     I  do  believe 
That  yon  dead  moon  compels  the  haughty  seas 
To  ebb  and  flow,  and  that  my  natal  star 
Stands  like  a  stern-browed  sentinel  in  space 
And  challenges  events;  nor  lets  one  grief, 
Or  joy,  or  failure,  or  success,  pass  on 
To  mar  or  bless  my  earthly  lot,  until 
It  proves  its  Karmic  right  to  come  to  me. 

All  this  I  grant,  but  more  than  this  I  know! 
Before  the  solar  systems  were  conceived, 
When  nothing  was  but  the  unnamable, 
My  spirit  lived,  an  atom  of  the  Cause. 
Through  countless  ages  and  in  many  forms 
It  has  existed,  ere  it  entered  in 
This  human  frame  to  serve  its  little  day 
Upon  the  earth.     The  deathless  Me  of  me, 
The  spark  from  that  great  all-creative  fire 
Is  part  of  that  eternal  source  called  God, 
And  mightier  than  the  universe. 

Why,  he 
Who  knows,  and  knowing,  never  once  forgets 


1 1 8  POEMS  OF  PO  \  \  ~ER. 

The  pedigree  divine  of  his  own  soul, 
Can  conquer,  shape  and  govern  destiny 
And  use  vast  space  as  'twere  a  board  for  chess 
With  stars  for  pawns;  can  change  his  horoscope 
To  suit  his  will;  turn  failure  to  success. 
And  from  preordained  sorrows,  harvest  joy. 

There  is  no  puny  planet,  sun  or  moon, 

Or  zodiacal  sign  which  can  control 

The  God  in  us!     If  we  bring  that  to  bear 

Upon  events,  we  mold  them  to  our  wish; 

'Tis  when  the  infinite  'neath  the  finite  gropes 

That  men  are  governed  by  their  horoscopes. 


P  OEMS  OF  PO  WER.  119 

THE  TENDRIL'S  FATE. 

UNDER  the  snow  in  the  dark  and  the  cold, 
A  pale  little  sprout  was  humming; 
Sweetly  it  sang,  'neath  the  frozen  mold, 
Of  the  beautiful  days  that  were  coming. 

"How  foolish  your  songs,"  said  a  lump  of  clay, 
"What  is  there,  I  ask,  to  prove  them? 

Just  look  at  the  walls  between  you  and  the  day, 
Now,  have  you  the  strength  to  move  them?" 

But  under  the  ice  and  under  the  snow 
The  pale  little  sprout  kept  singing, 

"I  cannot  tell  how,  but  I  know,  I  know, 
I  know  what  the  days  are  bringing. 

"Birds,  and  blossoms,  and  buzzing  bees, 

Blue,  blue  skies  above  me, 
Bloom  on  the  meadows  and  buds  on  the  trees, 

And  the  great  glad  sun  to  love  me/' 

A  pebble  spoke  next:  "You  are  quite  absurd," 
It  said,  "with  your  song's  insistence; 

For  /  never  saw  a  tree  or  a  bird. 

So  of  course  there  are  none  in  existence.'' 

"But  I  know,  I  know,"  the  tendril  cried, 

In  beautiful  sweet  unreason; 
Tilllo!  from  its  prison,  glorified, 

It  burst  in  the  glad  spring  season, 


120  POEMS  OF  POWER. 


THE  TIMES. 

THE  times  are  not  degenerate.     Man's  faith 
Mounts  higher  than  of  old.     No  crumbling 

creed 
Can  take  from  the  immortal  soul  the  need 

Of  that  supreme  Creator,  God.     The  wraith 
Of  dead  beliefs  we  cherished  in  our  youth 
Fades  but  to  let  us  welcome  new-born  Truth. 

Man  may  not  worship  at  the  ancient  shrine 
Prone  on  his  face,  in  self-accusing  scorn. 
That  night  is  past.     He  hails  a  fairer  morn, 

And  knows  himself  a  something  all  divine; 
No  humble  worm  whose  heritage  is  sin, 
But,  born  of  God,  he  feels  the  Christ  within. 

Not  loud  his  prayers,  as  m  the  olden  time, 
But  deep  his  reverence  for  that  mighty  force, 
That  occult  working  of  the  great  All-Source, 

Which  makes  the  present  era  so  sublime. 
Religion  now  means  something  high  and  broad, 
And  man  stood  never  half  so  near  to  God. 


POEMS  OF  PO  WER.  121 


THE  QUESTION. 

BESIDE  us  in  our  seeking  after  pleasures, 
Through  all  our  restless  striving  after  fame, 
Through    all    our    search    for    worldly  gains  and 

reasures, 

There  walketh  one  whom  no  man  likes  to  name. 
Silent  he  follows,  veiled  of  form  and  feature, 

Indifferent  if  we  sorrow  or  rejoice, 
Yet  that  day  comes  when  every  living  creature 
Must  look  upon  his  face  and  hear  his  voice. 

When  that  day  comes  to  you,  and  Death,  unmask 
ing, 

Shall  bar  your  path,  and  say,  " Behold  the  end," 
What  are  the  questions  that  he  will  be  asking 

About  your  past?     Have  you  considered,  friend? 
I  think  he  will  not  chide  you  for  your  sinning, 

Nor  for  your  creeds  or  dogmas  will  he  care ; 
He  will  but  ask,  " From  your  life  s  first  beginning 

How  many  burdens  have  you  helped  to  bear?  " 


122  POEMS  OF  PO\VER. 


SORROW'S   USES. 

'HE  uses  of  sorrow  I  comprehend 
Better  and  better  at  each  year's  end. 

Deeper  and  deeper  I  seem  to  see 
Why  and  wherefore  it  has  to  be. 

Only  after  the  dark,  wet  days 

Do  we  fully  rejoice  in  the  sun's  bright  rays. 

Sweeter  the  crust  tastes  after  the  fast 
Than  the  sated  gourmand's  finest  repast. 

The  faintest  cheer  sounds  never  amiss 
To  the  actor  who  once  has  heard  a  hiss. 

To  one  who  the  sadness  of  freedom  knows, 
Light  seem  the  fetters  love  may  impose. 

And  he  who  has  dwelt  with  his  heart  alone, 
Hears  all  the  music  in  friendship's  tone. 

So  better  and  better  I  comprehend 
How  sorrow  ever  would  be  our  friend. 


POEMS  OF  POWER.  123 


IF- 

TWIXT  what  thou  art,  and  what  thou  wouldst 
be,  let 

No  "If"  arise  on  which  to  lay  the  blame. 
Man  makes  a  mountain  of  that  puny  word, 
But,  like  a  blade  of  grass  before  the  scythe, 
It  falls  and  withers  when  a  human  will, 
Stirred  by  creative  force,  sweeps  toward  its  aim. 

Thou  wilt  be  what  thou  couldst  be.   Circumstance 
Is  but  the  toy  of  genius.     When  a  soul 
Burns  with  a  god-like  purpose  to  achieve, 
All  obstacles  between  it  and  its  goal 
Must  vanish  as  the  dew  before  the  sun. 

"If"  is  the  motto  of  the  dilettante 

And  idle  dreamer;  'tis  the  poor  excuse 

Of  mediocrity.     The  truly  great 

Know  not  the  word,  or  know  it  but  to  scorn, 

Else  had  Joan  of  Arc  a  peasant  died, 

Uncrowned  by  glory  and  by  men  unsung. 


124  POEMS  OF  POWER. 


WHICH    ARE    YOU? 

kHERE  are  two  kinds  of  people  on  earth  to-day; 
Just  two  kinds  of  people,  no  more,  I  say. 

Not  the  sinner  and  saint,  for  it's  well  understood, 
The  good  are  half  bad,  and  the  bad  are  half  good. 

Not  the  rich  and  the  poor,   for  to  rate  a    man's 

wealth, 
You  must  first  know  the  state  of  his  conscience  and 

health. 

Not  the  humble  and  proud,  for  in  life's  little  span, 
Who  puts  on  vain  airs,  is  not  counted  a  man. 

Not  the  happy  and  sad,  for  the  swift  flying  years 
Bring  each  man  his  laughter  and  each  man  his  tears. 

No;  the  two  kinds  of  people  on  earth  1  mean, 
Are  the  people  who  lift,  and  the  people  who  lean. 

\Vherever  you  go,  you  will  find  the  earth's  masses 
Are  always  divided  in  just  these  two  classes. 

And,  oddly  enough,  you  will  find  too,  I  ween, 
There's  only  one  lifter  to  twenty  who  lean. 


POEMS  OF  PO  WER.  125 

In  which  class  are  you?    Are  you  easing  the  load 
Of  overtaxed  lifters,  who  toil  down  the  road? 

Or  are  you  a  leaner,  who  lets  others  share 
Your  portion  of  labor,  and  worry  and  care? 


126  POEMS  OF  POWER. 


THE  CREED  TO  BE. 

OUR  thoughts  are  molding  unmade  spheres, 
And,  like  a  blessing  or  a  curse, 
They  thunder  down  the  formless  years, 
And  ring  throughout  the  universe. 

We  build  our  futures,  by  the  shape 

Of  our  desires,  and  not  by  acts. 
There  is  no  pathway  of  escape ; 

No  priest-made  creeds  can  alter  fac 

Salvation  is  not  begged  or  bought; 

Too  long  this  selfish  hope  sufficed; 
Too  long  man  reeked  with  lawless  thought. 

And  leaned  upon  a  tortured  Christ. 

Like  shriveled  leaves,  these  worn  out  creeds 
Are  dropping  from  Religion's  tree; 

The  world  begins  to  know  its  needs, 
And  souls  are  crying  to  be  free. 

Free  from  the  load  of  fear  and  grief, 
Man  fashioned  in  an  ignorant  age; 

Free  from  the  ache  of  unbelief 
He  fled  to  in  rebellious  rage. 


POEMS  OF  PO  WER.  127 

No  church  can  bind  him  to  the  things 
That  fed  the  first  crude  souls,  evolved ; 

For,  mounting  up  on  daring  wings, 
He  questions  mysteries  all  unsolved. 

Above  the  chant  of  priests,  above 

The  blatant  voice  of  braying  doubt, 

He  hears  the  still,  small  voice  of  Love, 
Which  sends  its  simple  message  out. 

And  clearer,  sweeter,  day  by  day, 
Its  mandate  echoes  from  the  skies, 

"Go  roll  the  stone  of  self  away, 

And  let  the  Christ  within  thee  rise." 


128  POEMS  OF  PO  WER. 


INSPIRATION. 

NOT  like  a  daring,  bold,  aggressive  boy, 
Is  inspiration,  eager  to  pursue, 
But  rather  like  a  maiden,  fond,  yet  coy, 

Who  gives  herself  to  him  who  best  doth  woo. 

Once  she  may  smile,  or  thrice,  thy  soul  to  fire, 
In  passing  by,  but  when  she  turns  her  face, 

Thou  must  persist  and  seek  her  with  desire, 
If  thou  wouldst  win  the  favor  of  her  grace. 

And  if,  like  some  winged  bird,  she  cleaves  the  air, 
And  leaves  thee  spent  and  stricken  on  the  earth, 

Still  must  thou  strive  to  follow  even  there, 

That  she  may  know  thy  valor  and  thy  worth. 

Then  shall  she  come  unveiling  all  her  charms, 
Giving  thee  joy  for  pain,  and  smiles  for  tears; 

Then  shalt  thou  clasp  her  with  possessing  arms, 
The  while  she  murmurs  music  in  thine  ears. 

But  ere  her  kiss  has  faded  from  thy  cheek, 
She  shall  flee  from  thee  over  hill  and  glade, 

So  must  thou  seek  and  ever  seek  and  seek 

For  each  new  conquest  of  this  phantom  maid. 


POEMS  OF  POWER.  129 


THE  WISH. 

HOULD  some  great  angel  cay  to  me  to-morrow, 
4'Thou  must  re-tread   thy  pathway  from    the 

start, 
But  God  will  grant,  in  pity,  for  thy  sorrow, 

Some  one  dear  wish,  the  nearest  to  thy  heart.'" 

This  were  my  wish!  from  my  life's  dim  beginning 
Let  be  what  has  been!  wisdom  planned  the  whole; 

My  want,  my  woe,  my  errors,  and  my  sinning, 
All,  all  were  needed  lessons  for  my  soul. 


130  POEMS  OF  POWER. 


THREE  FRIENDS. 

OF  all  the  blessings  which  my  life  has  known, 
I  value  most,  and  most  praise  God  for  three : 
Want,  Loneliness,  and  Pain,  those  comrades  true, 

Who  masqueraded  in  the  garb  of  foes 
For  many  a  year,  and  filled  my  heart  with  dread. 
Yet  fickle  joys,  like  false,  pretentious  friends, 
Have  proved  less  worthy  than  this  trio.      First, 

Want  taught  me  labor,  led  me  up  the  steep 
And  toilsome  paths  to  hills  of  pure  delight, 
Trod  only  by  the  feet  that  know  fatigue, 
And  yet  press  on  until  the  heights  appear. 

Then  loneliness  and  hunger  of  the  heart 
Sent  me  upreaching  to  the  realms  of  space, 
Till  all  the  silences  grew  eloquent, 
And  all  their  loving  forces  hailed  me  friend. 

Last,  pain  taught  prayer!   placed  in  my  hand  the 

staff 

Of  close  communion  with  the  over-soul, 
That  I  might  lean  upon  it  to  the  end, 
And  find  myself  made  strong  for  any  strife. 


POEMS  OF  POWER.  13 

And  then  these  three  who  had  pursued  my  steps 
Like  stern,  relentless  foes,  year  after  year, 
Unmasked,  and  turned  their  faces  full  on  me. 
And  lo!  they  were  divinely  beautiful, 
For  through  them  shone  the  lustrous  eyes  of  Love 


132  POEMS  OF  POWER. 

YOU  NEVER  CAN  TELL. 

YOU  never  can  tell  when  you  send  a  word, 
Like  an  arrow  shot  from  a  bow 
By  an  archer  blind,  be  it  cruel  or  kind, 

Just  where  it  may  chance  to  go. 
It  may  pierce  the  breast  of  your  dearest  friend. 

Tipped  with  its  poison  or  balm, 
To  a  stranger's  heart  in  life's  great  mart, 
It  may  carry  its  pain  or  its  calm. 

You  never  can  tell  when  you  do  an  act 

Just  what  the  result  will  be; 
But  with  every  deed  you  are  sowing  a  seed, 

Though  the  harvest  you  may  not  see. 
Each  kindly  act  is  an  acorn  dropped 

In  God's  productive  soil. 
You  may  not  know,  but  the  tree  shall  grow, 

With  shelter  for  those  who  toil. 

You  never  can  tell  what  your  thoughts  will  do, 
In  bringing  you  hate  or  love ; 

For  thoughts  are  things,  and  their  airy  wings 
Are  swifter  than  carrier  doves. 

They  follow  the  law  of  the  universe- 
Each  thing  must  create  its  kind, 

And  they  speed  o'er  the  track  to  bring  you  back 
Whatever  went  out  from  your  mind. 


POEMS  OF  POWER.  133 


HERE  AND   NOW. 

HERE,  in  the  heart  of  the  world, 
Here,  in  the  noise  and  the  din, 
Here,  where  our  spirits  were  hurled 

To  battle  with  sorrow  and  sin, 
This  is  the  place  and  the  spot 

For  knowledge  of  infinite  things; 
This  is  the  kingdom  where  Thought 
Can  conquer  the  prowess  of  kings. 

Wait  for  no  heavenly  life, 

Seek  for  no  temple  alone; 
Here,  in  the  midst  of  the  strife, 

Know  what  the  sages  have  known. 
See  what  the  Perfect  Ones  saw — 

God  in  the  depth  of  each  soul, 
God  as  the  light  and  the  law, 

God  as  beginning  and  goal. 

Earth  is  one  chamber  of  Heaven, 
Death  is  no  grander  than  birth. 

Joy  in  the  life  that  was  given, 
Strive  for  perfection  on  earth. 

Here,  in  the  turmoil  and  roar, 
Show  wnat  it  is  to  be  calm; 


134  POEMS  OF  POWER. 

Show  how  the  spirit  can  soar 

And  bring  back  its  healing  and  balm. 

Stand  not  aloof  nor  apart, 

Plunge  in  the  thick  of  the  fight 
There  in  the  street  and  the  mart, 

That  is  the  place  to  do  right. 
Not  in  some  cloister  or  cave, 

Not  in  some  kingdom  above, 
Here,  on  this  side  of  the  grave, 

Here,  should  we  labor  and  love. 


POEMS  OF  POWER.  135 


UNCONQUERED. 

HOWEVER  skilled  and  strong  art  thou,  my  foe, 
However  fierce  is  thy  relentless  hate, 
Though  firm  thy  hand,  and  strong  thy  aim,  and 

straight 

Thy  poisoned  arrow  leaves  the  bended  bow, 
To  pierce  the  target  of  my  heart,  ah !  know 
I  am  the  master  yet  of  my  own  fate. 
Thou  canst  not  rob  me  of  my  best  estate, 
Though  fortune,  fame  and  friends,  yea  love  shall  go. 

Not  to  the  dust  shall  my  true  self  be  hurled; 

Nor  shall  I  meet  thy  worst  assaults  dismayed. 

When  all  things  in  the  balance  are  well  weighed. 
There  is  but  one  great  danger  in  the  world — 

Thou  canst  not  force  my  soul  to  wish  thee  ill, 

That  is  the  only  evil  that  can  kill. 


136  POEMS  OF  POWER. 


ALL  THAT  LOVE  ASKS. 

ALL  that  I  ask,"  says  Love,  I4is  just  to  stand 
And  gaze,  unchided,  deep  in  thy  dear  eyes: 
For  in  their  depths  lies  largest  Paradise. 

Yet,  if  perchance  one  pressure  of  thy  hand 
Be  granted  me,  then  joy  I  thought  complete 
Were  still  more  sweet. 

"All  that  I  ask,"  says  Love,  "all  that  I  ask, 
Is  just  thy  hand  clasp.     Could  I  brush  thy  cheek 
As  zephyrs  brush  a  rose  leaf,  words  are  weak 

To  tell  the  bliss  in  which  my  soul  would  bask. 
There  is  no  language  but  would  desecrate 
A  joy  so  great. 

"All  that  I  ask,  is  just  one  tender  touch 
Of  that  soft  cheek.     Thy  pulsing  palm  in  mine, 
Thy  dark  eyes  lifted  in  a  trust  divine 

And  those  curled  lips  that  tempt  me  overmuch 
Turned  where  I  may  not  seize  the  supreme  bliss 
Of  one  mad  kiss. 

"All  that  I  ask,"  says  Love,  "of  life,  of  death, 
Or  of  high  heaven  itself,  is  just  to  stand, 
Glance  melting  into  glance,  hand  twined  in  hand, 

The  while  I  drink  the  nectar  of  thy  breath, 


POEMS  OF  POWER. 

In  one  sweet  kiss,  but  one,  of  all  thy  store, 
I  ask  no  more." 

"All  that  I  ask" — i*ay,  self-deceiving  Love, 
Reverse  thy  phrase,  so  thus  the  words  may  fall, 
In  place  of  "all  I  ask,"  say,  "I  ask  all," 

All  that  pertains  to  earth  or  soars  above, 
All  that  thou  wert,  art,  will  be,  body,  soul, 
Love  asks  the  whole. 


138  POEMS  OF  POWER. 


"DOES  IT  PAY?" 

IF  one  poor  burdened  toiler  o'er  life's  road, 
Who  meets  us  by  the  way, 
Goes  on  less  conscious  of  his  galling  load, 
Then  life,  indeed,  does  pay. 

If  we  can  show  one  troubled  heart  the  gain 

That  lies  alway  in  loss, 
Why,  then,  we  too,  are  paid  for  all  the  pain 

Of  bearing  life's  hard  cross. 

If  some  despondent  soul  to  hope  is  stirred, 

Some  sad  lip  made  to  smile, 
By  any  act  of  ours,  or  any  word, 

Then,  life  has  been  worth  while 


POEMS  OF  POWER.  139 


I 


SESTINA. 

WANDERED  o'er  the  vast  green  plains  of  youth, 
And  searched  for  Pleasure.   On  a  distant  height 
Fame's  silhouette  stood  sharp  against  the  skies. 
Beyond  vast  crowds  that  thronged  a  broad  highway 
I  caught  the  glimmer  of  a  golden  goal, 
While  from  a  blooming  bower  smiled  siren  Love. 

Straight  gazing  in  her  eyes,  I  laughed  at  Love, 
With  all  the  haughty  insolence  of  youth, 
As  past  her  bower  I  strode  to  seek  my  goal. 
"Now  will  I  climb  to  glory's  dizzy  height," 
I  said,  "for  there  above  the  common  way 
Doth  pleasure  dwell  companioned  by  the  skies." 

But  when  I  reached  that  summit  near  the  skies, 
So  far  from  man  I  seemed,  so  far  from  Love — 
"Not  here,"  I  cried,  "doth  Pleasure  find  her  way." 
Seen  from  the  distant  borderland  of  youth, 
Fame  smiles  upon  us  from  her  sun-kissed  height, 
But  frowns  in  shadows  when  we  reach  the  goal. 

Then  were  mine  eyes  fixed  on  that  glittering  goal, 
Dear  to  all  sense — sunk  souls  beneath  the  skies. 
Gold  tempts  the  artist  from  the  lofty  height, 
Gold  lures  the  maiden  from  the  arms  of  Love, 


140  POEMS  OF  POWER. 

Gold  buys  the  fresh  ingenuous  heart  of  youth, 

" And  gold,"  I  said,  "will  show  me  Pleasure's  way." 

But  ah !  the  soil  and  discord  of  that  way, 

Where  savage  hordes  rushed  headlong  to  the  goal, 

Dead  to  the  best  impulses  of  their  youth, 

Blind  to  the  azure  beauty  of  the  skies; 

Dulled  to  the  voice  of  conscience  and  of  love, 

They  wandered  far  from  Truth's  eternal  height. 

Then  Truth  spoke  to  me  from  that  noble  height, 
Saying:  <4Thou  didst  pass  Pleasure  on  the  way, 
She  with  the  yearning  eyes  so  full  of  Love, 
Whom  thou  disdained  to  seek  for  glory's  goal. 
Two  blending  paths  beneath  God's  arching  skies 
Lead  straight  to  Pleasure.   Ah,  blind  heart  of  youth, 
Not  up  fame's  height,  not  toward  the  base  god's 

goal, 

Doth  Pleasure  make  her  way,  but  'neath  calm  skies 
Where  Duty  walks  with  Love  in  endless  youth." 


POEMS  OF  POWER.  141 


THE  OPTIMIST. 

THE  fields  were  bleak  and  sodden.     Not  a  wing 
Or  note  enlivened  the  depressing  wood; 
A  soiled  and  sullen,  stubborn  snowdrift  stood 
Beside  the  roadway.     Winds  came  muttering 
Of  storms  to  be,  and  brought  the  chilly  sting 

Of  icebergs  in  their  breath.   Stalled  cattle  mooed 
Forth  plaintive  pleadings  for  the  earth's  green 

food. 
No  gleam,  no  hint  of  hope  in  anything. 

The  sky  was  blank  and  ashen,  like  the  face 

Of  some  poor  wretch  who  drains  life's  cup  too 
fast. 

Yet,  swaying  to  and  fro,  as  if  to  fling 

About  chilled  Nature  its  lithe  arms  of  grace, 
Smiling  with  promise  in  the  wintry  blast, 

The  optimistic  Willow  spoke  of  spring. 


THE  PESSIMIST. 

pessimistic  locust,  last  to  leaf, 
Though  all  the  world  is  glad,  still  talks  of 
grief. 


142  POEMS  OF  POWER. 


AN  INSPIRATION. 

HOWEVER  the  battle  is  ended, 
Though  proudly  the  victor  comes 
With  fluttering  flags  and  prancing  nags 

And  echoing  roll  of  drums, 
Still  truth  proclaims  this  motto 

In  letters  of  living  light, — 
No  question  is  ever  settled 
Until  it  is  settled  right. 

Though  the  heel  of  the  strong  oppressor 

May  grind  the  weak  in  the  dust, 
And  the  voices  of  fame  with  one  acclaim 

May  call  him  great  and  just, 
Let  those  who  applaud  take  warning, 

And  keep  this  motto  in  sight, — 
No  question  is  ever  settled 

Until  it  is  settled  right. 

Let  those  who  have  failed  take  courage ; 

Tho'  the  enemy  seems  to  have  won, 
Tho'  his  ranks  are  strong,  if  he  be  in  the  wrong 

The  battle  is  not  yet  done; 
For,  sure  as  the  morning  follows 

The  darkest  hour  of  the  night, 


POEMS  OF  POWER.  143 

No  question  is  ever  settled 
Until  it  is  settled  right. 

O  man  bowed  down  with  labor! 

O  woman  young,  yet  old! 
O  heart  oppressed  in  the  toiler's  breast 

And  crushed  by  the  power  of  gold! 
Keep  on  with  your  weary  battle 

Against  triumphant  might; 
No  question  is  ever  settled 

Until  it  is  settled  right. 


144  POEMS  OF  POWER. 


LIFE'S    HARMONIES. 

LET  no  man  pray  that  he  know  not  sorrow, 
Let  no  soul  ask  to  be  free  from  pain, 
For  the  gall  of  to-day  is  the  sweet  of  to-morrow, 
And  the  moment's  loss  is  the  lifetime's  gain. 

Through  want  of  a  thing  does  its  worth  redouble, 
Through  hunger's  pangs  does  the  feast  content, 

And  only  the  heart  that  has  harbored  trouble, 
Can  fully  rejoice  when  joy  is  sent. 

Let  no  man  shrink  from  the  bitter  tonics 

Of  grief,  and  yearning,  and  need,  and  strife, 

For  the  rarest  chords  in  the  soul's  harmonics. 
Are  found  in  the  minor  strains  of  life. 


POEMS  OF  POWER.  145 


PREPARATION. 

WE  must  not  force  events,  but  rather  make 
The  heart  soil  ready  for  their  coming1,  as 
The  earth  spreads  carpets  for  the  feet  of  Spring, 
Or,  with  the  strengthening  tonic  of  the  frost, 
Prepares  for  Winter.     Should  a  July  noon 
Burst  suddenly  upon  a  frozen  world 
Small  joy  would  follow,  even  tho'  that  world 
Were  longing  for  the  Summer.      Should  the  sting 
Of  sharp  December  pierce  the  heart  of  June, 
What  death  and  devastation  would  ensue! 
All  things  are  planned.     The  most  majestic  sphere 
That   whirls  through   space   is  governed  and  con 
trolled 

By  supreme  law,  as  is  the  blade  of  grass 
Which  through  the  bursting  bosom  of  the  earth 
Creeps  up  to  kiss  the  light.     Poor  puny  man 
Alone  doth  strive  and  battle  with  the  Force 
Which  rules  all  lives  and  worlds,  and  he  alone 
Demands  effect  before  producing  cause. 
How  vain  the  hope!     We  cannot  harvest  joy 
Until  we  sow  the  seed,  and  God  alone 
Knows  when  that  seed  has  ripened.     Oft  we  stand 
And  watch  the  ground  with  anxious  brooding  eyes 

Complaining  of  the  slow  unfruitful  yield, 
10 


146  POEMS  OF  POWER. 

Not  knowing  that  the  shadow  of  ourselves 
Keeps  off  the  sunlight  and  delays  result. 
Sometimes  our  fierce  impatience  of  desire 
Doth  like  a  sultry  May  force  tender  shoots 
Of  half-formed  pleasures  and  unshaped  events 
To  ripen  prematurely,  and  we  reap 
But  disappointment;  or  we  rot  the  germs 
With  briny  tears  ere  they  have  time  to  grow. 
While  stars  are  born  and  mighty  planets  die 
Aud  hissing  comets  scorch  the  brow  of  space 
The  Universe  keeps  its  eternal  calm. 
Through  patient  preparation,  year  on  year, 
The  earth  endures  the  travail  of  the  Spring 
And  Winter's  desolation.     So  our  souls 
In  grand  submission  to  a  higher  law 
Should  move  serene  through  all  the  ills  of  life, 
Believing  them  masked  joys. 


POEMS  OF  POWER.  147 


GETHSEMANE. 

IN  golden  youth  when  seems  the  earth 
A  Summer-land  of  singing  mirth, 
When  souls  are  glad  and  hearts  are  light, 
And  not  a  shadow  lurks  in  sight, 
We  do  not  know  it,  but  there  lies 
Somewhere  veiled  under  evening  skies 
A  garden  which  we  all  must  see — 
The  garden  of  Gethsemane. 

With  joyous  steps  we  go  our  ways, 
Love  lends  a  halo  to  our  days; 
Light  sorrows  sail  like  clouds  afar, 
We  laugh,  and  say  how  strong  we  are. 
We  hurry  on ;  and  hurrying,  go 
Close  to  the  border-land  of  woe, 
That  waits  for  you,  and  waits  for  me — 
Forever  waits  Gethsemane. 

Down  shadowy  lanes,  across  strange  streams, 
Bridged  over  by  our  broken  dreams ; 
Behind  the  misty  caps  of  years, 
Beyond  the  great  salt  fount  of  tears, 
The  garden  lies.     Strive  as  you  may, 
You  cannot  miss  it  in  your  way. 


148  POEMS  OF  POWER. 

All  paths  that  have  been,  or  shall  be, 
Pass  somewhere  through  Gethsemane. 

All  those  who  journey,  soon  or  late, 
Must  pass  within  the  garden's  gate; 
Must  kneel  alone  in  darkness  there, 
And  battle  with  some  fierce  despaii 
God  pity  those  who  can  not  say, 
"Not  mine  but  thine,"  who  only  pray, 
"Let  this  cup  pass,"  and  cannot  see 
The  purpose  in  Gethsemane. 


POEMS  OF  POWER.  149 


GOD'S  MEASURE. 

OOD  measures  souls  by  their  capacity 
For  entertaining  his  best  Angel,  Love. 
Who  loveth  most  is  nearest  kin  to  God, 
Who  is  all  Love,  or  Nothing. 

He  who  sits 

And  looks  out  on  the  palpitating  world, 
And  feels  his  heart  swell  in  him  large  enough 
To  hold  all  men  within  it,  he  is  near 
His  great  Creator's  standard,  though  he  dwells 
Outside  the  pale  of  churches,  and  knows  not 
A  feast-day  from  a  fast-day,  or  a  line 
Of  Scripture  even.     What  God  wants  of  us 
Is  that  outreaching  bigness  that  ignores 
All  littleness  of  aims,  or  loves,  or  creeds, 
And  clasps  all  Earth  and  Heaven  in  its  embrace. 


150  POEMS  OF  POWER. 


NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

(HOLD  it  the  duty  of  one  who  is  gifted 
And  specially  dowered  in  all  men's  sight, 
To  know  no  rest  till  his  life  is  lifted 
Fully  up  to  his  great  gifts'  height. 

He  must  mold  the  man  into  rare  completeness, 
For  gems  are  set  only  in  gold  refined. 

He  must  fashion  his  thoughts  into  perfect  sweetness, 
And  cast  out  folly  and  pride  from  his  mind. 

For  he  who  drinks  from  a  god's  gold  fountain 

Of  art  or  music  or  rhythmic  song 
Must  sift  from  his  soul  the  chaff  of  malice, 

And  weed  from  his  heart  the  roots  of  wrong. 

Great  gifts  should  be  worn,  like  a  crown  befitting! 

And  not  like  gems  in  a  beggar's  hands. 
And  the  toil  must  be  constant  and  unremitting 

Which  lifts  up  the  king  to  the  crown's  demands. 


POEMS  OF  POWER.  151 


A  DOMESTIC  CONVERSATION. 

SCENE:     The  family  living-room. 
CHARACTERS  : 

Elaine -,  just  from  boarding  school — seventeen, 
voluptuous  and  romantic. 

Helen,  her  mother,  married  to  her  first  lover, 
and  as  ignorant  of  men,  women  and  chil 
dren  as  such  mothers  usually  are. 

Ralph,  the  father,  who  had  sowed  a  large  crop 
of  wild  oats  before  marriage,  and  then,  as  is 
customary  with  men,  serenely  expects  his 
children  to  be  seraphs. 

Marie,  his  sister,  twice  a  widow,  and  knowing 
human  nature  in  all  its  complexity — child 
less,  but  better  able  to  rear  children  than 
are  their  fathers  or  mothers. 

Elaine,  primping  before  the  mirror  in  a  new  gown 

with  a  demi-train : 

"Now  I  have  finished  school,  put  up  my  hair 
And  down  my  skirts,"  I  think  it  is  my  right 
To  learn  about  the  world  which  seems  so  fair. 
I  hear  of  girls  who  win  all  hearts  at  sight — 
Tell  me,  dear  parents,  and  dear  aunt,  I  pray, 
How  can  I  make  men  love " 


152  POEMS  OF  POWER. 

The  father,  looking  up  from  his  paper,  startled  and 

anvry:  «<n-  L 

1  ut,  tut,  I  say, 

What  sort  of  talk  is  this  for  chit  like  you! 
Is  that  the  theme  you  studied  in  your  school? 
That  old  Italian's  theory  must  be  true 
About  degenerates — 

Aunt  Marie,  quietly  interrupting: 

"Ralph,  don't  be  a  fool 

(Tho'  forty  years  you've  stood  upon  the  brink) ; 
Elaine  but  speaks  what  other  girls  all  think." 

The  mother,  mildly: 

"Elaine  is  but  a  child!     She  does  not  know 
The  meaning  of  the  words  she  uses;  she 
Has  not  a  thought  that  is  not  pure  as  snow. 
There,  Ralph,  you've  made  our  darling  weep, 

you  see ; 

You  should  not  let  your  temper  fly  so  loose." 
Elaine,  petulantly: 

"I  will  not  be  set  down  for  such  a  goose, 
Mamma,  as  you  would  make  me  out:  I'm  sure 
I  know  quite  well  what  I  am  talking  of. 
Where  is  the  sin,  and,  pray,  what  is  impure 
In  craving  knowledge  of  a  thing  like  love  ? 
I  heard  a  man  last  night  tell  Aunt  Marie 
She  must  have  taken  the  thirty-third  degree 
In  Cupid's  order!     And  the  way  he  smiled 
I  know  he  did  not  think  dear  auntie  bad." 


POEMS  OF  POWER.  153 

The  mother,  looking  troubled: 

"Just  hear  her  prattle  on,  the  simple  child." 

The  father,  throwing  down  his  paper  and  bursting 

out  anew  : 

"A  convent  is  the  place  for  her!     Egad! 
She's  too  precocious!     It's  a  pretty  pass 
When  subjects  such  as  these  absorb  a  lass 
Of  seventeen!" 

Aunt  Marie,  in  an  aside : 

("Her  mother's  years  were  less 
By  one,  and  yours  by  five,  I  think,  were  more 
When  you  eloped!     Nell  lengthened  down  her 

dress 

By  letting  out  the  hem  the  night  before. 
And  Nell  was  not  your  first  love,  either. 

Queer, 

How  apples  grow  on  apple  trees,  Ralph  dear, 
Now,  isn't  it?") 

A  loud  to  Elaine  : 

"Come  close,  my  sweet  Elaine, 
Your  father  and  your  mother  and  myself 
Will  listen  to  your  questions.     Now  be  plain 
(If  that  could  be  with  such  a  charming  elf) ; 
Tell  us  your  thoughts,  reveal  your  very  heart. 
Who  but  your  elders  should  life's  truths  impart? 
Your  father  does  but  jest,  and  play  a  role; 
Your  mother  too!    They  both  know,  as  I  do, 


154  POEMS  OF  POWER. 

That  love  is  the  germ,  the  purpose  and  the  goal 

Of  every  living  thing;  they  know  when  you 

Ask  questions  about  love,  it  is  because 

You  are  a  part  of  that  Eternal  Cause. 

They  know  the  maid  or  youth  who   does   not 

muse 

Or  wonder  over  love  the  beautiful 
Has  missed  imagination's  sweetest  use, 
And  must  be  ill,  anemic  or  quite  dull. 
They  know  the  danger,  too,  that  lurks  in  dreams 
Not   anchored    by    some    knowledge   of    such 

themes, 

And  they  are  glad  to  have  this  privilege; 
Your  confidence  is  love's  sweet  recompense. 
Hide  not  behind  your  timid  maiden  hedge, 
But  meet  us  on  the  plains  of  common  sense. 
We  all  were  young  like  you,  once!      And  all 

three 
Were  just  as  full  of  curiosity." 

Elaine,  shyly: 

"Well — oh — there  is  so  much  I  want  to  learn: 

How  to  win  love — I  do  not  want  to  miss 

This  happiness  in  lifel     And  oft  I  yearn 

To  know  the  meaning  of  a  lover's  kiss — 

I  read  of  it  in  story,  verse  and  song, 

And  yet  some  people  seem  to  think  it  wrong." 


POEMS  OF  POWER.  155 

The  father,  hastily: 

"Wrong!      Yes     'tis  wrong — 'tis  very  wrong. 

In  truth, 
'Tis  even  wicked.     It's  a  deed  to  shun." 

The  mother,  hesitatingly: 

"Until  you  are  a  wife!     Or  if  the  youth 

Has  bid  you  name  the  day — why,  then  just  one 

Wee — little — kiss,  perhaps,  upon  the  cheek — 

Elaine : 

"In  books  it  is  the  lips  men  seem  to  seek." 

Aunt  Marie: 

"A  kiss  is  like  a  bee — a  honeyed  thing 

One  needs  approach  with  caution.     In  its  sweet 

Lies  hidden  oft  a  very  cruel  sting. 

It  is  no  sin  to  kiss — but  more  discreet 

To  keep  your  lips  for  love's  pre-nuptial  feast." 

The  father : 

"I'd  shoot  the  man  down  like  a  ravenous  beast 
Who  from  my  daughter's  lips  should  dare  to 

brush 
The  bloom  of  innocence." 

Marie,  aside  to  him: 

("Ralph,  I  recall  the  only  time  I  ever  saw  you 

blush : 
I  caught  you  kissing  Helen  in  the  ball 


156  POEMS  OF  POWER. 

Full  three  long  months  before  you  two  were 

one. 
How  fortunate  her  father  had  no  gun!") 

Aloud \  to  Elaine : 

"Be  lovable  and  loving,  would  you  win 
The  love  of  other  souls!     To  warmth,  not  cold, 
The  roses  yield  their  fragrance.       Here  within 
The  safe  home  garden  let  your  heart  unfold 
Its  treasures.       Think,  not  idly  sit  and  dream ; 
And  be,  nor  rest  content  to  merely  seem. 
The  holiest  thing  in  life  is  love's  grand  passion; 
Make  no  light  jest  of  it,  nor  dissipate 
Your  wealth  of  womanhood  in  idle  fashion, 
Pretending  love,  until  you  find,  too  late, 
You  have  no  feeling  even  to  play  the  part. 
There  is  no  beggary  like  a  paupered  heart. 
To  be  a  woman  is  a  glorious  thing, 
And  to  be  beautiful  and  bright;  ah,  sweet, 
When  all  is  done,  what  talents  you  must  bring 
To  lay  down  at  the  generous  Giver's  feet. 
Be  this  your  aim — that  at  the  end  men  say, 
'The  world  seems  better  since  she  passed  this 

way.'  ! 

{Exit  Elaine.} 

Marie,  turning  to  parents : 

"Deliberate  criminals — colossal  fools, 
To  bring  a  child  to  earth  the  usual  way 


POEMS  OF  POWER.  157 

And  then  to  shut  her  with  old  maids  in  schools 
And  think  your  duty  done!  To  frown  and  say 
'Shame,'  when  her  growing  mind  would  reach 

and  climb 

To  those  great  truths  that  are  as  old  as  time. 
To  know  her  born  of  you  and  your  desire, 
Yet  think  her  free  from  mortal  passions!     Oh, 
I  wonder  God's  great  patience  does  not  tire 
Looking  on  fools  of  parents  here  below." 
(Goes  out  and  bangs  the  door.) 

Helen,  sighing: 

"So  queer,  and  such  a  temper!     It  is  plain 
She's  not  the  chaperone  for  our  Elaine." 


168  POEMS  OF  POWER. 

THE  COMMERCIAL  TRAVELER. 

FIRST  in  the  crowded  car  is  he  to  offer— 
This  traveling  man,  unhonored  and  unsung— 
The  seat  he  paid  for,  to  some  woman,  young 
Or  old  and  wrinkled.     He  is  first  to  proffer 
Something — a  trifle  from  his  samples,  may  be— 
To  please  the  fancy  of  a  crying  baby. 
He  lifts  the  window  and  he  drops  the  curtain 
For  unaccustomed  hands.     He  lends  his  "case" 
To  make  a  bolster  for  a  child,  not  certain 
But  its  mamma  will  frown  him  in  the  face; 
So  anxiously  some  women  seek  for  danger 
In  every  courteous  act  of  any  stranger. 
Well  versed  is  he  in  all  the  ways  conducive 
To  comfort  where  least  comfort  can  be  found. 
His  little  deeds  of  thoughtfulness  abound. 
He  turns  the  seat  unasked,  yet  unobtrusive, 
Is  glad  to  please  you,  or  to  have  you  please  him, 
Yet  takes  it  very  calmly  if  you  freeze  him. 
He  smoothes  the  Jove-like  frown  of  the  official 
By  paying  the  fare  of  one  who  cannot  pay. 
True  modesty  he  knows  from  artificial; 
Will  flirt,  of  course,  if  you're  inclined  that  way, 
And  if  you  are,  be  sure  that  he  detects  you; 
And  if  you're  not,  be  sure  that  he  respects  you. 
The  sorrows  of  the  traveling  world  distress  him; 
He  never  fails  to  lend  what  aid  he  can. 
A  thousand  hearts  to-day  have  cause  to  bless  him, 
This  much-abused,  mis-used  "commercial  man." 
I  do  not  seek  to  cast  a  halo  'round  him, 
But  speak  of  him  precisely  as  I've  found  him. 


POEMS  OF  PO  WER.  159 


THE  WORLD'S  NEED. 


So  many  gods,  so  many  creeds, 

So  many  paths  that  wind  and  wind, 
While  just  the  art  of  being  kind, 

Is  all  the  sad  world  needs. 


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